


Should have

by erana



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Buff Jaskier | Dandelion, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fuck Or Die, Geralt deserves what's coming for him, Jaskier can have a little drama as a treat, Jaskier is just more open about it, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Mutual Pining, Pining, and not really important but listen Jaskier is strong okay, here read it thousand first, i guess?, idiots to lovers, just mentioned, they're both drama queens, yeah yeah you've read it thousand times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26128792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erana/pseuds/erana
Summary: Life wasn't always what you wanted.Sometimes you were witcher killing monsters you wished you could save instead. Sometimes you were bard instead singing of heroics, washing gore out of your clothes. And sometimes you needed the said bard in a way you'd never dared to ask.Really. Geralt checked. Or he would die.(Or maybe not. But in the moment it certainly felt like dying.)Alternatively:What happensafterit happens.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 277





	1. After

This was weird. Geralt suspiciously eyed the bard walking just few paces before him.

It was midday. Sun was shining high on their heads, the road was dry and dusty and Jaskier seemed fully content. Normally he would start complaining about empty stomach and too hot rays on his skin just about now. He would describe the torments Geralt was putting him through in great detail and when it didn't work he would start describing the most delicious meal he ate at king's court until Geralt's mouth watered and his stomach growled.

Jaskier was never one for suffering alone.

But it seemed he was far from thinking about food or his oh so sensitive skin.

_Skin that was so lightly scratched, that bruised so easily beneath his fingers._

__

Geralt gritted his teeth. Jaskier was carrying his lute lightly on his back and he was carrying himself like had no care in the whole world; his steps light and sure.

_Just as his smell yesterday._

When they first met after winter it felt like something was off about the bard. He wasn't acting unusual, no, his smile was as radiant when greeting him as always. But there were lingering stares Geralt felt on his back, occasional blinking when Geralt asked him something, as if he was coming down from whatever cloud he was currently on. 

Less of casual touching too. This one, Geralt hated, he minded the most.

Just - general _awkwardness_ around him, Geralt couldn't quite put his finger on. Something was bothering Jaskier. But whatever it was, it was gone. 

Now of all times.

There was spring in his step he hasn’t seen in _months_.

It wasn't _fair_ , Geralt thought despite the situation. Definitely not right. He had plenty of worries himself and most of them were regarding the bard.

Also it _was_ weird because it was _exactly_ what Geralt had wanted and now when the two things he longed for - having Jaskier still with him and pretending that _thing_ hadn't happened - it felt wrong. Vile, even.

He didn't know what he expected. Maybe some joke, Geralt wouldn't be above punching him for. Or some lewd song about humble bard saving witchers with his magic instrument. He'd be pissed, of course he'd be but that way at least Jaskier could have a laugh. And he could be relived because things would be back to normal. 

Not that Jaskier wasn't pretending everything wasn't normal. Normal that he now knew what he tasted like, normal that he knew how his skin blushed when touched. 

How he sounded just out of breath, being silenced just in the right moment and in the right way. 

Normal that Geralt now knew what his best friend's face looked like in the peak passion that had nothing to do with rush of adrenaline in a fight. 

They had a fight yesterday though. Before it all, about something petty, he was sure. Gods, it was such a long time ago. Yesterday he didn't know a thing about the damn monster and today he had to live with consequences. He should have refused the money, should have let this one be. Should have done many things differently. 

In a way he sold them both for coin.

The merchant that hired them was lying trough his teeth so blatantly that even half-asleep Jaskier picked up on it. 

_"Oh, the monster won't be your worst problem, you deceptive fool,"_ he whispered right before slaming both his palms on the table in front of the man, baring his teeth. 

The merchant actually _jumped_ in his seat and Jaskier loomed over him with murderous glee in his eyes that Geralt hasn't seen on him, well, for a while now. He half-expected him to pull out his dagger on the poor sod. 

_"Let me at him,"_ he yelled around Geralt's grip.

Jaskier had been irritated before walking into the town and for whatever reason the man seemed to be his last straw. Geralt had to pull him back using actual _physical_ force, which Jaskier didn't love as much. He hasn't hesitated in telling him so and Geralt had to bite his tongue not to be nasty to him right back. 

__

Jaskier then insisted they walk out on the man, pretty aggressively while he was at it, too. __

__

_"We should just fucking go, Geralt,"_ Jaskier gestured wildly, almost smacking the man in the process. _"Leave them to whatever damned monster problem they're having!"_

Geralt had the _audacity_ to disagree. Their totally unplanned quarrel of bad bard versus good witcher seemed to be working because the merchant doubled their pay for the insult.

While Jaskier loudly disagreed, Geralt nodded, short.

However Geralt hasn't spied anything acted in Jaskier's outburst and once he caught Geralt's nodding from corner of his eye, he turned to Geralt, eyes ablaze. "He was lying before, Geralt! How you know he's not lying now!"

"Because," Geralt was looking right at the man, "he knows that if I'm capable of chopping off monster's head I'm as well capable of chopping off his." 

Jaskier snorted and it sounded suspiciously like _show-off_ and _could've made it a triple._

They also had a fight, well, right _before._ Jaskier screamed at him and he screamed right back until he could no longer defend his right to _just fucking die under the stars as I always wanted, Jaskier_ anymore.

After they left their camp this morning, Jaskier shook himself off pretty easily. He didn't manage to keep his mouth shut much longer and after few more meters he slipped into his carefree talking. As he was still now. Talking about everything but one thing. 

Actually, Jaskier hasn't as much as _breathed_ a word about what has happened between them. 

It was several hours already. And it was driving Geralt _nuts._

If he didn't know him better, he'd expect him to never ever shut up about it. 

__

_Hey, remember when I saved your life? With my cock?_

__

_Sure, Jaskier. But we were talking about food seasoning and battle tactics. Also it happened just a half day ago._

If he didn't know him better, he'd say he's not talking about it on purpose. To _drive_ him mad. Such a thing definitely wasn't above Jaskier.

"…and then they kicked me out! Would you believe that, Geralt?"

He hummed instead of answering that, yes, he could indeed believe that they kicked him out after he managed to offend everyone and their dog at that one inn. After all, it wasn't such a rare occurrence. Not with his mouth. 

Nor with his habit to bed the wrong people. 

Jaskier stopped and turned, quirking eyebrow at him, somehow knowing what he hasn't said. "So now you agree of all times?" He put hands on his hips and puffed in dramatic fashion, though with no real heat. " _Everybody_ loves me, you know?" 

Jaskier said it in half offended accusing way, half joking voice. As if he was challenging him to argue. One that left Geralt at loss what he truly believed in.

Light on the surface, but digging deeper. Geralt couldn't afford to go deeper now. 

Besides, he _knew_ and that was the problem. He almost told him so

"I would expect you," continued Jaskier, "to be _at least_ teeny weeny bit more surprised by this unfortunate string of… events." 

He was. Maybe not the way Jaskier meant but he _indeed_ was form the moment he'd woken up today. Since the damp forest air reached his nose and brought along the smell of his best friend. Since he remembered what made his body so relaxed last night. Since he opened his eyes and realized it wasn't just a fever dream. 

And since he realized _how weird_ it was.

It _was_ weird because for a moment it felt nice. Normal even. Jaskier's head lay on his chest and his one hand was protectively draped around the small of his back. He was pretty sure it was the other way round before they fell asleep, that Jaskier was holding him.

Jaskier wasn't sleeping, though he pretended he was and Geralt let it pass, not wanting to disturb the moment. It very much could be the last he had. He hadn't run away, he thought as his fingers run lazy circles into his back. Jaskier stilled and Geralt stopped it, finally realizing what he was doing. 

After two slow heartbeats Geralt said: "You're not sleeping."

"No."

__

_You're here. You're still here,_ he wanted to say.

"There's…" Geralt started and promptly had to gulp. "There's a river not that far away. We should go wash."

"Hm," Jaskier pondered for a moment, not moving. And Geralt really regretted opening his mouth when after a while he finally sat up. There was wet sound of sticking skin and what was worse, the missing warmth that saved his life, warmth that's been saving him for far longer than he could actually comprehend.

"Gross," said Jaskier with a small laugh and then he was on his feet, walking towards the river just as he was.

Geralt squeezed his eyes and before following him he picked something to dry off with for both of them. 

They washed, pointedly not looking at each other. Though Geralt did look. When he was certain Jaskier couldn't see him, making sure he won't embarrass them further. He had to make sure he was… what? Okay? How could he be ever okay after what he did to him?

And fuck, Jaskier looked better after angry kikimora tried to chop his leg off. Despite the situations they repeatedly found themselves in, Geralt somehow always _always_ managed to protect him. No matter how bad it got, it was the only thing on his mind. 

_Make sure the idiot gets out unwounded._

And he did. 

Mostly.

Right?

Though, Geralt splashed water on his own chest, it wasn't as bad as he feared. Jaskier wasn't a small man. The first time Geralt saw him without shirt, he was taken aback by broadness of his shoulders, strength that was hiding under all those fancy clothes. That was the first time he really realized what Jaskier was. A trickster. The way he dressed, the way he talked. Presenting himself as little harmless, charming bardling. Clothes making him appear smaller, words making him seem unimportant, hiding in a plain sight. Better let people underestimate him. 

(Opposite approach to Geralt's scare-them-into-submission way. How could he not, really? With what nature and mutagens gave him?) 

Despite what Geralt often told himself, Jaskier wasn't delicate. He could take a blow or two. As evidenced now; he had several bruises, scratches on his back and one on his ass, but nothing too deep, nothing that won't heal. After twisting certain way he looked pained and there were bite marks littered all over his body that would make Geralt blush if he still remembered how to blush, that's it. He ached to say something, anything, but not knowing a single word that wouldn't make this worse or less awkward. Jaskier seemed content with silence, for once in his life, washing himself and Geralt finally looked away hoping that the cold water will somehow help him forget the horrors and the pleasure of the last night.

He got first out of the water. He ignored prickling on his skin, maddening and disconcerting, urging him on and _on_ to look back, to do something he'd most likely regret. Not looking back he bent to pick up a cloth to dry with. He wasn't half-way finished when he heard Jaskier's steps behind him.

He willed his back not to tense, his breathing not to hitch, his resolve not to fucking crumble. Without looking he threw him the cloth and by the sound of it he must have caught it. Not waiting, he started walking towards their campsite. After few hasty moments he heard Jaskier's steps join him.

He remembered the sound of ripping fabric and even back in his haze he knew it wasn't his. It didn't matter in the moment, but it certainly did now. When they've made it back to the camp, he picked Jaskier's shirt from where he tossed it last night, guilt washing over him. He held it for a moment longer and then handed it to Jaskier.

Jaskier took it without a word but when his eyes caught in the massive hole in the front, he frowned. "Cool," he said, "cool," he repeated more nervous than accusing and something in Geralt's chest twisted. Jaskier fitted one his hand through the hole and shrugged extensively. He laughed a bit, tight. "Okay. It's okay. It's not like it was my best one."

"I'll replace it."

"No. No, no. I said it's okay."

It wasn't. None of this was. Any other time Jaskier would jump at the chance of Geralt buying him clothes, of spending their hard earned coin on luxurious fabrics. When exactly did it become _their_ coin? Geralt wasn't sure. He suspected it happened on the very first day he met him, all those years ago. He wanted to laugh, maybe cry a little and definitely punch something. Preferably his own face. _Years_ of friendship gone. _Fucking years._ In course of one night and his stupid, stupid mistake. 

"Jaskier," he said, still standing above him, fearing that slightest movement might frighten him. Jaskier still didn't look at him.

__

_Julian._

__

He called him Julian last night. Just once. It slipped through his lips before he could stop himself. Jaskier said nothing then, just found his gaze, holding it a second too long before delving down to kiss him again. Even back then it felt like a mistake. Even back then he knew that look in Jaskier's eyes will haunt him forever.

Now his eyes stayed carefully averted.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling, _meaning_ every letter of the damn word.

"I said it's okay." There was edge in Jaskier's voice though he was hiding it well and Jaskier still wouldn't bring himself to look at him.

Geralt felt like killing that vicious thing that brought them into this mess all over again. It was poison. Pulsing into Geralt's blood from the scratch on his abdomen because he was too slow, too distracted, too worried that he's gonna be too slow and Jaskier was there, too close though he told him to stay back and… Dammit. Stupid world that allowed stupid monster with its stupid claws to exist, fuck them and their- 

No. 

Geralt gritted his teeth.

It wasn't a monster who did it last night. He was. __

"I'm sorry. I would never…"

Jaskier flinched.

Jaskier flinched and his stomach twisted painfully. Geralt averted his gaze. 

He should have rather died.


	2. Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally different chapter was supposed to go here but - look what your comments can do! I wrote this totally unplanned thanks to you! Enjoy extra chapter!

_"Geralt…?"_

Echo of Jaskier's voice. It wasn't the first time he said his name, not by the tone of it. Worried. Slightly panicked. Yet it sounded as if it was coming to him from a distance. Geralt, on his knees, clutched hand at his own stomach. His fingers came unsurprisingly wet. He slowly looked down, moving as in a thick liquid. That bastardous thing. It got him. 

"Uh, Geralt?"

It wasn't deep. Definitely not serious. He had far worse. So why he felt so…

"Geralt?" Jaskier's voice again, closer to him. He couldn't bring himself to care. Inspecting the wound, the world around him moved slowly. As if in a dream. He brought his attention to his fingers.

_"Gerlat!"_ This time his voice wasn't just slightly panicked. It was reaching its panicked heights. 

"What?" he barked at him and that seemed to put the world back into its motion. He turned his head just to see Jaskier stumbling back over his legs.

_"The creature…"_ Jaskier swallowed, "… _it moved._ Looks like… looks like you missed its heart."

The world that was spinning so slow before became frantic now. Before Geralt could actually comprehend what he was doing, still on his knees, he reached the sword up above his head. The monster's claw came crushing and Gerlat held with all his might. He didn't even know _when_ he picked up the sword. It was steel. He lost the silver one somewhere in the fight. 

His muscles were straining and it hurt. It hurt so bad. He didn't know how long he could keep it up. Fending off the monster's attack. _Defending_ himself. Because that's what it was. Not attacking just - defending. Tired from the battle he thought he'd won, he realized what was the only possible solution. Undignified retreat. He _hated_ running from the fight but… he wasn't alive as long as he was just for nothing. 

The creature attacked again, hideously scratching his arm's plate and Geralt wanted to kill it just for that. It was almost miracle the creature could fight so vigorously after being impaled on his sword - silver, no less - before. But Jaskier was right, he hasn't hit its heart. He ducked to right.

Although the creature was _close_ to hitting his. The claw slipped down his chest plate with an awful sound and Geralt stumbled back shaken just form the sheer force of the impact. The sword slipped a bit in his hand and he gripped it painfully. There was no way he was getting out of this in one piece. He braced for another attack. The beast growled, rose to its full height and-

And then with a disgusting grunt fell down to the ground as it was, not moving anymore.

Geralt's eyes widened, when, in deafening silence, behind the beast, he spotted the bard. He stood on shaky legs, his hands gripping bloodied sword - silver, Geralt noted - and looked pale beyond comparison. When his eyes found Geralt's, he exhaled. 

_Fool_. He shouldn't be here. Not so close, not fighting witcher's battle, not saving _him_ when it could very much cost his life. The idea of the world with no new Jaskier's songs briefly crossed his mind and the blood pounded in his ears little louder. 

"You okay?" shouted Geralt. Jaskier just nodded, wiping the sword on the creature's fur. He looked back at Geralt, than at the beast and when he realized _what_ he had just done, he let the sword fall form his hand to the ground. Geralt winced at the sound. It wasn't right time for sword etiquette though. 

"What the _fuck-_ " Jaskier's chest heaved."It _was dead_ , Geralt."

"No. You were right, I missed." He came to stand next to him, looking at the beast. "But you didn't."

"Thanks _fuck_ for that."

"Or to you finally taking my lessons to heart," Geralt smirked.

"Don't tease me, Geralt. This heart is pretty _faint_ now." 

Jaskier's hand trembled before he curled it into the fist. There was a bead of sweat on his forehead and he looked ready to throw up. He was still standing straight though and Geralt was very much aware of the strength it took to slash through all those hard muscles. 

"You did good, Jaskier."

"What is it?!Am I _dying?"_ Jaskier theatrically put hand against his own heart."Or has just famed white wolf _praised me?_ "

Geralt crouched next to the beast, poking it a little. Definitely dead now. Funny how he missed it before. He should have known, should have heard its heartbeat or at least when it moved. Few things could evade witcher's senses.

"Maybe _you_ should write _me_ a song now," quipped Jaskier. Corner of Geralt's mouth twitched. Good. It meant Jaskier was feeling already better.

"Don't get your hopes up." Geralt stood up. His head spun a little but… almost loosing the fight did that to the person.

"Considering it's _I_ who made you famous-"

Geralt frowned and his hand instinctively came around his wound.

"Are you okay, Geralt?" Jaskier's frown was as bad as the witcher's. His eyes caught at his abdomen, at his curled bloodied fingers. "Gods, you're hurt!"

"Just a scratch."

" _Just a scratch_ , he said last time he _fainted_ on me."

"It happened once."

"Three times to be precise. Well," Jaskier tilted his head to the side, " _three times and half_ \- counting also the instance when you fell asleep on me after the fight."

"Hand me the sword."

"You see? If- if it was just a scratch you'd pick it up yourself." He bent nonetheless and fumbled until he found his sword again. He gave it to him.

"Stand back."

Jaskier did as he was told, taking few courteous steps back. The air swished as the sword cut through it, landing in the mass of meat in front of them. Droplets of blood spluttered and landed on Geralt's face and few on Jaskier.

_"Oh, shit,"_ Jaskier cursed, covering his mouth and backing the fuck away, not looking. 

The sword rose again. And again.

And the cacophony of _shit, shit, shit_ sounded through it.

"You could have at least _warned me,_ " complained Jaskier, once Geralt had the evidence of his - of _their_ \- kill severed. He frowned at his stained pants.

"I did."

"Well, there's difference between you telling me to stand back and saying 'Jaskier, darling, I am going to smash innocent remains of this ugly beast'."

"Innocent?" Geralt raised eyebrow at him as he approached, said remains in his hand, taking his swords with him. "Do you want to stand here and wait till it resurrects second time?"

"Sweet Melitele, that's _disgusting_." Jaskier's hand came back to his mouth in an attempt to not throw up. "Wait," he said, "it can do that?"

" _Sure,_ Jaskier. While I'm holding _this_." When he saw Jaskier's face though, he sighed. He deserved better after what he's done today. "No, Jaskier. It can't do that. It is very much dead and it will stay that way."

"Just take a piss, Geralt," he scoffed, "But I am living in a world full of monsters, _magic_ and-"

"And witchers?" Geralt gave him side glance.

"I was going to say _'and shit'_ but I guess you can count witchers in there too. And I, for one am glad for that," he added with a sigh.

"Well…" Geralt said after a while that stretched a bit long, "you'd be among firsts." They walked shoulder by shoulder, leaving the monster behind. 

"Don't mind being the first," Jaskier smiled coyly at him. "Though I doubt it is true. That father last week looked pretty glad you exist too, when you returned him his daughter."

"Hm," was all Geralt said, not really sure how to respond to it. The girl was injured when he found her, bitten and half-conscious and the man was among the few people who actually thanked him. From the corner of the eye, he saw Jaskier's soft expression but when his eyes fell on the monstrosity in Geralt's hand his smile faltered. 

_"Besides,"_ he picked up where he left, "You _yourself_ said you had no idea _what_ this was." 

"No," admitted Geralt, "but I know it can't hurt us. Not anymore."

"I hope you're sure about that."

They reached their camp and Geralt settled their proof of kill down against the tree. "I am." 

When he turned he caught Jaskier staring at him.

"How's your, ah, _scratch?"_

__

Geralt looked down at his torso. "Not that bad," he said.In fact he'd go as far as say - better. He didn't feel it, not anymore. Which was sligtly weird, he should be reminded of it at least when he bent to put down their trophy, but he felt as good as new. Huh.

"Please, Geralt, wipe," Jaskier gestured wildly in Geralt's general direction, " _all_ _that_ off yourself so I can come and look it over."

"It won't be necessary," said Geralt but he started cleaning himself. 

"I want to make sure. Don't know what I'd do with knocked out witcher and _that horrendous thing_."

"Hopefully take it with yourself and collect the money." 

" _Please,_ Geralt. We both know I won't touch it, not even with a pole. I still might have nightmares about it."

Corner of Geralt's mouth quirked up. "What happened to the 'fortitudinous minstrel' from your songs?" Once the worst of the mess was wiped, he started working on his armour. __

"He used all his courage to wash some poor thing's bile out of his last pair of nice pants?" asked Jaskier, his tone innocuous.

Geralt didn't bother hiding his smile, knowing Jaskier couldn't see him, not from that angle. He continued on his armour, unclasping the buckles, untying the straps. It was sticky and slimy at parts, not really pleasant thing. And there it was again, the prickling on the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched, of incredibly closely scrutinized. In a moment when his attention was focused somewhere else. As if the bard wanted to burn his image into his brain. Silly wasn't it?

He worked slower than usually, his fingers somehow not cooperating, sliding at the trickier parts. He heard Jaskier swallow. Although he tried to be sneaky about it, Geralt could just imagine the way his Adam's apple bobbed.

Geralt let his arm piece fall to the ground. At the sound Jaskier recoiled. He pretended he hasn't noticed and rolled his shoulder. Not that bad. There was stiffness, but it was still working.

"Might need a massage," said Jaskier licking his lips and Geralt just grunted in response. Somehow the thought of his hands was putting his head in vertigo, something that hasn't happened before. He got rid of the rest of the armour quicker.

He wiped his face on the cloth in a one swift motion and he was about to peel his bloodied undershirt from his stomach, when Jaskier interrupted him.

"You… you missed a bit right…" he pointed at his own cheek, "…right up there." __

Geralt scratched with a cloth at his face again, but when he looked at Jaskier, Jaskier sighed. He came to him, stopping short in front of him. 

"Let me," he said and without waiting he took cloth out of Geralt's hands. Geralt, mesmerized, hasn't protested. Jaskier proceeded to rub dirt out of his face.

His fingers brushed lightly his skin and Geralt tensed. It was strange. His touch was burning him and calming something in his core at the same time. He could swear he was blushing, his skin too too hot, but it didn't seem Jaskier noticed something out of order. He could have imagined it. But the flame in his veins felt real, slow and dangerous, and Geralt ducked out from under his touch.

Jaskier blinked at him and slowly retreated his hand. 

"Better," he said with a small smile.

Geralt stared at him.

_"O-okay,"_ Jaskier clasped his hands, "show me where it hurts."

"It doesn't," said Geralt and it should, shouldn't it? Nevertheless he pulled his undershirt from his pants, peeling the wet fabric from his body. 

"Fuck. That's a lot of blood."

"It's just on the surface," Geralt said. "Hasn't got through the muscle."

"Still needs cleaning."

Jaskier went to get waterskin, murmuring under his breath. Probably something about unworthy villagers and damned merchants undeserving of Geralt risking his skin for them or something. Geralt hasn't paid him attention. He lifted his shirt over his head and discarded it on the ground. 

"Double, my arse!" he heard Jaskier say. He was still going through their bags. "He's paying us four times what we're owed. Bastard."

_"Jaskier…"_ Geralt sighed. He was about to lecture him, again, on how changing the contract after agreeing on it was bad for business, and that it's just the way life was, when-

"Ha! Found it!" Jaskier turned to him, still with fury in his eyes, holding small vial. "That man swore this salve was working magic."

He approached him, handing him the water. Geralt poured it at his stomach.

"At least it stopped bleeding," squinted Jaskier. "Turn here…" Jaskier put one his hand lightly on his hip, guiding him into the stream of moon's light, "sometimes I wish I had your sight…" 

Geralt went willingly. But, _fuck_ , his touch… his touch too light, more like a whisper on his skin, sating something deep in his bones and leaving him raw, helpless and _starving_ at the same time. 

Jaskier went down on one his knee to get better look and-

"Uh," Jaskier shifted, flicking his eyes from Geralt's crotch to his face and back at his crotch - just fucking _staring._ It took Geralt whole second till it registered. He cursed under his breath. __

__

"…do you really think this is the right time?" Jaskier asked, amused, not taking his gaze away from the bulge he found there.

"I mean," he continued, "I'm aware I've written that one absolutely _horrible_ poem where I used _'horny for fight'_ but I didn't mean it quite… so literally. In a defense of my awful poetry though - I was terribly drunk." He finally took his eyes from Geralt's problem up to his face. Which was somehow worse. " _And_ horny," Jaskier added with a wink.

He was looking up at him, kneeled in front of him and yup, _definitely worse_. 

"You're always horny."

Jaskier, the bastard, meaningfully looked at his crotch again "Pot calling out a kettle," he grinned.

"It will pass." 

"You're sure about that? Don't you want a moment or…?"

Geralt gave him an unimpressed look.

"Look," Jaskier put his hands up, "when gentleman must, he musts. I'm the last one to judge. I can make myself scarce for a moment."

"And go where?" Geralt irritated took step back. "There are not only monsters in this forest but also _wolves_. And if I have to save you with a hard-on…." he left it threateningly unfinished. 

"Well, I can see one angry wolf _right now,_ " Jaskier whistled as he stood up. Geralt bared his teeth at him. Jaskier continued undeterred. "And while this surely conjures up _rather_ interesting, lovely and also _disturbing_ image worthy of its own ballad, the other side of camp looks… safe?"

"So you what?" he scoffed. "Will listen to me wank?"

_"Hardly would be the first time,"_ muttered Jaskier under his breath, almost inaudible.

"What?"

"Nothing," said Jaskier with a wide smile.

"You know I have witcher's hearing, right?"

"I can play!" said Jaskier suddenly. "I have a lute, Geralt. Took it with me in case you were in mood for some music. And seeing you're very much in a mood…"

_"It."_

Geralt hissed at him, showing his teeth and all that seemed to make normal people afraid of him. 

" _Will."_

__

Jaskier wasn't by no means normal. __

__

_"Pass."_

But he seemed to finally drop it. He held his hands up in surrender.

"Those are your blue balls, Geralt. Suit yourself."

Which should've been end of it. He would expect him to step back but Jaskier did no such thing. He fucking _leaned forward_ , so his face wasn't that far from the said balls and Geralt almost tripped over himself.

_"I told you to leave it."_

"Just… your wound still needs tending." Jaskier's hand hovered in the air, just millimeters over his stomach and Geralt took step back.

_"Don't fucking touch me."_

"Alright, alright. Here," Jaskier straightened and handed him the salve. Geralt took it from him and made sure his fingers haven't grazed his. There was something about Jaskier's hands right now that was making him lose his mind, driving him utterly nuts.

"Some say I have magic touch, though. Not gonna waste it where it's not appreciated."

Jaskier then settled across from the fireplace, lute in this lap. He wasn't really playing it, no, just from time to time picking up on the strings. Geralt took care of his wound, using Jaskier's salve. It was a good thing, already calming his skin at the edges and was he in another state, he'd also tell him so. It must have been quite expensive. He ignored pang of guilt as he settled down on his bedroll. He put arm against his eyes and tried to relax.

"What rhymes with abominable?" Jakier asked after some time, but Geralt was in no state to answer him. Not that Jaskier noticed. "No. Never mind," he decided, looking at glowing coals, musing. 

After what seemed like hours to him, but it was probably only one at most, Geralt realized with horror, that he probably should have taken Jaskier on his offer to play him through it.

As the restlessness way beyond any sense of normalcy took over his body, the words drummed in his brain, dull and urgent at the same time.

_You should have. Should have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Any and every feedback is deeply appreciated!


	3. Of torn shirts and broken hearts

"What's that." Jaskier frowned, lifting his gaze from his broth to the pouch sitting heavily on a table in front of him - to Geralt's face. Geralt put it there just mere seconds ago, as a matter of fact he was still standing at his table, the one far away in a corner of a tavern. 

Geralt would've chosen the very same one if given a chance. Clear view of the entrance, away from people, still pretty good position to defend himself from if anything were to happen. For a half second he entertained the thought that maybe he trained him well.

He did, didn't he? As much as he tried to not think about it, their last hunt was evidence enough.

Jaskier held his eyes a moment longer, searching his face but his expression remained carefully guarded. For once Geralt was thankful for all those mutations that helped his face stay stone-hard.

It was spectacular fiasco, really. The hunt. It went down so _exceptionally bad_ Geralt couldn't imagine it in his wildest dreams. And he _had_ his fair share of colossal debacles. Apart from the fact that it was _Jaskie_ rwho had to kill the beast _or_ the unspeakable thing that happened afterwards - it also turned out the merchant didn't have half the money he promised them. Not even without doubling the sum. When Jaskier found out, he almost killed him. 

When _Geralt_ found out, he almost let him.

"I- I was robbed, too," cried the man as Jaskier held him by his throat, his feet dangling in the air.

"So in turn you decided to rob us, yes?" asked Geralt casually leaning on the wall next to him, arms crossed.

_"No!"_

__

The man half turned his face at Geralt and was quickly reminded _why_ he couldn't finish the motion as Jaskier with a snarl pushed him back against the wall. __

"Lies, lies and more _lies_ ," Geralt sighed dramatically. He glanced at Jaskier. "Finish him."

 _"With pleasure,"_ sneered Jaskier and the man began screaming even louder than before. If was unfortunate, really. Geralt wanted to be the one with hands around the man's throat, squeezing, making sure he won't think of crossing a witcher ever again. 

But when they entered the town, Jaskier saw him first, his temper naturally boiled over, so Geralt was left with more passive role. Any other time he would simply shove Jaskier out of way but… Jaskier deserved it. And not only because he saved him twice that night.

The man wriggled and panted under his touch, his anguish clear not only in the noises escaping him but also in the way he was sweating. 

_Disgusting._

He wouldn't let Jaskier _actually_ kill the man, obviously. Scaring him out of his mind? _Yes, sounded good_. Letting Jaskier go through all his pockets? _Sure._ Leaving him with nightmares full of ferocious bards? _Yup, why not._ However, the woman that walked by didn't think the same and soon half the village came to man's rescue. Armed with forks and scythes and nasty scowls, leaving them with only one reasonable option. Retreat.

It wasn't that easy to make Jaskier drop the man. It took several shouts of his name for him to even realize the situation they were in. There was a second where Geralt knew Jaskier understood. His eyes flicked from the crowd to Geralt and back to the man and for that whole second Geralt was sure he had just decided it was still worth to gut the man. He couldn't blame him.

Geralt tensed, ready to pounce but Jaskier after a while let the man go. The man scuttled on the ground, half-choking on his sobs. Jaskier took disgusted step back. He then turned his attention to the crowd, spitting and cursing but he was at least seemingly following Geralt as Geralt's vindictive glower was cutting their way through the crowd.

Jaskier, in all his glory, at least managed to grab two of merchant's chickens. 

_"No witcher's ever coming to your rescue again, you bastards! I'll make sure of that!"_ he yelled, holding chickens under his arms, stumbling as Geralt dragged him by his collar. 

The clucking of the birds was bit too much for his senses and he tried to reason with Jaskier once they were out of town but, _"Eggs, Geralt. Fresh eggs in the morning!"_ He didn't argue after that. __

__

The chickens run away the first night.

So they were egg-less, chicken-less and broke once again.

They camped ever since, sleeping under stars, hunting down their food. Until they stumbled upon another town.

They found the inn that smelled least offending, left their things in the room and since it was still several hour till sun set, they each went their separate way, Jaskier probably wandering the streets and well, Geralt went to get _this_.

"Coin," he replied still standing at Jaskier's table, face carefully neutral. 

"Yeah, I can see that." Jaskier remained unimpressed, suspiciously eyeing the pouch. "Where did you get that?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Why is it sitting in front of me?"

"Because it's yours." 

"You know me, Geralt," Jaskier leaned back in his seat, looking up at him. "Don't look gifted horse in the mouth and all that jazz but even glorious bastard as myself can't help but ask - what for?" 

"For your shirt."

Geralt watched as the words slowly crept into Jaskier's brain and his eyes widened. However from the set of his jaw Geralt could tell it wasn't good widening. "Take it back," Jaskier hissed. "I don't want your _money."_

Geralt slipped into the seat opposite to him. "In the last town you saw shiny ring and practically begged me for money, if I recall correctly." 

"And you gave me none."

"Exactly."

"So what makes this different?"

Geralt hesitated. He knew _exactly_ what made this different. They both did. The question was angry, _Jaskier_ was angry and Geralt was just trying to do the decent thing. 

"I ruined your shirt," he said, matter of fact, the words quiet. Jaskier, though, was having none of it.

"Two weeks ago you ruined my boots, you bastard, by making me go through that river but you haven't felt guilty since then."

Geralt stole his ale and lifted it to his mouth. "It was just a small stream," he smirked behind the mug. "I haven't told you to _jump_ into it."

"Try telling that to my _messed up custom made_ footwear," snarled Jaskier. "And give that _back."_

Jaskier snatched his mug from Geralt's hand and Geralt let him. He wiped his mouth.

Jaskier _did_ enter the stream with more zing than necessary. His foot slipped on the wet rock - which _wouldn't_ happen if he had better, more firm sole - and it sent him flying right into Geralt's arms. Which besides Geralt almost dropping him on his ass also meant Jaskier's fancy boot got full of muddy water. It was _nightmare_ to clean as Jaskier didn't forget to repeatedly mention as he was limping behind him, with one foot bare. Geralt had to let him on Roach in the end, because he would absolutely _not_ wear his boot wet, thankyouverymuch, Geralt.

"Maybe you should buy for the road and not the embellishment."

"Maybe you should rely on the maps and not the memory."

Geralt raised his chin. 

_Fair jab._

But he absolutely _did not_ get lost. Witchers didn't get lost. Just… the bushes and trees got a little bit bigger in those almost fifty years he last saw them. Not his fault, right?

"Take the money, Jaskier."

"I told you," he spat. "I want _none_." 

But that wasn't what Geralt heard. His leg was starting to hurt, he was dirty, sweaty and irritated by each passing second. There was something up his sleeve that felt particularly itchy. He had no patience for this.

"I killed fucking warg for that. Take it."

"I thought you said it didn't matter where it came from."

"Jaskier," Geralt put his palms flat on the table, "my leg is still bleeding and I'm in _very bad mood_ right fucking now. Pocket the fucking coin, go buy the fanciest fucking shirt to ever exist and all the fucking rings your little heart desires and be _fucking over with it."_

"How about that," Jaskeir wetted his lips, smirking a little, " _No."_

_"Jaskier,"_ he warned.

"Yes, dear?" leaning back Jaskier crossed his arms, picture of innocence though he was looking at him with clear challenge.

"Take the fucking coin or-"

Jaskier raised his eyebrow. _"Or?"_

__

_Or he makes him_ , as he made him do other things. Geralt squeezed his eyes. He was tired. So fucking tired. It's been five days and he hasn’t slept since. He felt the blood still dripping down his leg. There was dull pain in his arm and sharp one in his neck. 

Wargs weren't usually that difficult and this one was young and stupid, barely worth the mention or the name but he was slow and distracted, too tired to think clearly or ahead. It took more effort than it should have, really, and he thought it was worth it but he didn't expect to come back to Jaskier, _home_ ,and have to fight another battle. Suddenly he had no energy for this. 

"I owe it to you," he said simply.

However, apparently that was the worst possible thing he could've said. Jaskier's face crumbled right before it twisted in pure unadulterated rage. 

"You…" he breathed out. There was murder in his eyes and any other time he would secretly enjoy it. He would stand back a second too long, furtively delighting in the trembling of Jaskier's opponent before stepping in and forcefully dragging Jaskier by collar. 

Based on what he ate, how he slept, alignment of the stars, level of idiocy he was feeling at the moment, the amount of the moronity he estimated the certain person was emitting and whatever else bullshit Jaskier based his decision on, he would either let Geralt to yank him away or he would throw arms, not caring one bit it was even with him.

Jaskier wasn't meek. Not in his passions, not in everyday life. He was fucking scary, that's what he was. The smiling, easy-going bard was just facade, not someone he really was, deep, deep down. It took him some time to realize that, as Jaskier was pretty careful, not letting too many people see right through him. He did and it was privilege he honored deeply. Not that he would ever let him know.

Once or twice he saw him go all feral on some poor bastard - not including the merchant, both times on his behalf, and it was the scariest and hottest thing Geralt ever witnessed. He cherished those moments. But he definitely wasn't cherishing this one. 

Jaskier squeezed his eyes, muscles in his jaw strained. "You incredibly stupid insensitive obnoxious oblivious piece of-" he cut himself off opening his eyes.

Geralt stared.

"No." Jaskier gritted his teeth, shaking his head.

"I'm _so_ over you. I'm so over your dumb ass, you have no idea, you- you fucking _fuck!"_

Also, Geralt noted, deep down the famous bard wasn't very well spoken. The said bard rose to his feet - more like _jumped,_ really -and Geralt was lucky he hadn't trashed tankard of ale on his head. He saw him do it few times. 

He turned to walk away from Geralt, and something in his gut told him it was _forever_ now _,_ and Geralt against his better judgment put his hand on his wrist in a poor attempt to stop him. Jaskier however did stop. He turned at him, angry tear swelling in the corner of his eye. 

There was a moment where they just looked at each other, Geralt's hand on his wrist, feeling every livid thud of his heart under his fingers.

It was maddening and _maddeningly_ fascinating at the same time.

Jaskier shook his hand off.

"You want me to take the pouch?" he sneered holding Geralt's gaze. He reached to pick it up. "So what?" he spat. "You can feel better about yourself?" 

Corner of Jaskier's mouth quirked and there was a hint of teeth in that awful _awful_ smile.

"I fuck you and you pay me? That's how it is?" 

Geralt froze, the words heavy in his stomach. He could only watch as Jaskier weighed the pouch in one of his hands, as something cold and unpleasant crawled from the depths of his own soul rendering him speechless, unmoving. Frost-bitten.

Just an animal watching from the depths of his cage.

"You _know_ what does that make me?" asked Jaskier, his words quiet.

Geralt hasn't answered.

" _Besides,"_ he hissed, letting the pouch fall on the table with an angry thump, _"you couldn't afford me."_

__

And with that Jaskier stormed out. Geralt sighed deeply, all air leaving him. He sunk his head deep into his hands, squeezing his eyes.

He should have bought the fucking shirt himself.


	4. Traveling with you hurts

Geralt kept his eyes closed, slowly breathed through his nose. He was lying in the bed miserably awake for several hours now. The temperature was all wrong, the blanket too scratchy, the odour not out right unpleasant but missing something. He gave up the idea of meditating long ago, knowing it won't simply work, just as it hasn't nights before. Things were worse now, so why should he bother trying? 

He hasn’t followed Jaskier out of tavern. If he didn't want to be found - as he clearly didn't, planting fake trails, enough to confuse a witcher not so attuned to his smell - he won't look for him. It would be foolish. And Geralt, standing outside of a tavern, alone in the night, glaring at the stars, wanted to be foolish _so badly._ Clenching his fist, he turned away. The wind blew right into his face. He cursed under his breath and then loudly again and walked back to the inn.

And now, hour after awful hour he painfully willed away, Jaskier was in the room, the familiar smell in the air, though mixed with emotions he hadn't dared to interpret.

Geralt slowly rose to his elbows. There was Jaskier, his back against the door, dark eyes wild and unreadable, looking straight at him. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping. He came back. 

_He came back._

Geralt didn't expect him to, at least not so soon. He figured he would come, _eventually_. To fetch his things at least because even if Jaskier was willing to abandon everything he owned, the lute wasn't on that list. At that thought Geralt's stomach twisted. 

_The only thing in the room right now that Jaskier wouldn't part with._

For a moment, either of them haven't moved. __

"I've changed my mind," said finally Jaskier, his voice deep, emotionless. "Give me the money." 

Geralt rose from the bed, found the pouch and silently handed it to him. 

Jaskier took it without a word. Their fingers brushed lightly and Geralt stilled. He couldn't tell whether the chill that went down his spine was from that or the way Jaskier's eyes traced him. Before he could open his mouth, Jaskier turned and slipped through the door, back into the unforgiving night.

Geralt sank down heavily on their bed, alone in their room, his shoulders slumping. 

Somehow this was even worse.

***

Geralt turned to Roach, checked the saddle, fastened the bags. The stable was nice and clean, the town was currently monster-free and it was time to go. Geralt run his fingers through her mane and sighed. 

_It was time to go._

He took a deep breath and then instantly froze. He froze every time. Roach must have thought he's gone insane. She wouldn't be far from truth. 

Steps. He'd know them among thousands. 

He allowed himself one quick side-glance. Jaskier, in the entrance to the stable, was griping the strips of his lute's case, his knuckles almost white but there was determination in his face. He was saying nothing as he would be those days, just appearing out of thin air right when it was time to leave.

Geralt petted Roach, pretending his heart wasn't making somersaults in his chest. Lately it seemed to be its annoying hobby.

It went like this for some time. Going from town to town, getting one room, because they didn't have money for two. Or _he_ didn't have because fuck knows what Jaskier did with the money. He certainly wasn't spending them on lodgings - as he _shouldn't_ , Geralt added in his mind- and he was pretty sure he'd notice if he got new shirt. 

Jaskier would then drop his stuff behind locked doors and promptly disappear for the day and not come back for the night. He had no idea where he'd gone. He had no idea if he'd come back.

_He always came back._

__

Was he letting Geralt have the room? Who fucking knew? Definitely not Geralt. All he knew was that if there wasn't threat of wolves or other beats that was lurking in the air when they were camping, Jaskier couldn't stomach being in the same space as him. He had to, when there was an only tavern in the town, but even then Jaskier would disappear when the night came. __

__

With his easy smiles and winks he never had problem finding solace in someone's bed and the fact was something Geralt was desperately trying _not to_ think about at night. Every morning he got up more tired and every night coming to the room he was terrified to not find Jaskier's lute there. 

__

"Had a good night?" Geralt asked and couldn't stop sneer creeping into his voice.

As much as he dreaded it, Geralt had _no idea_ why he won't leave for good. He kind of wished he _would_ so this sick game of waiting, hoping he'll stay would finally end.

Jaskier didn't answer, just kept looking at him. 

"Right." Geralt turned from Roach, his sour mood getting even sourer. It wasn't his business. Never was. Staring ahead, he set for a road. As he was almost at Jaskier's level, something shiny caught his eye.

"Nice ring," he said without looking back. It was different one than he was wearing before. White and yellow.

"Thanks," replied Jaskier, his voice even but odd. He could just imagine the mean gleam in his eye, the daggers he was staring into his back, Geralt certainly felt. "I worked _my ass off for it,_ " muttered Jaskier, as he walked past him.

Jaskier would then walk slightly ahead of him or occasionally behind him, humming to himself. 

"I haven't heard this one before," Geralt tried commenting once.

"No," he replied carefully, "you haven't." 

It was all he said and after few more meters Geralt noticed it was quiet again. He was able to hear his own thoughts again and he didn't like it _one bit._

__

"I haven't told you to stop. It's nice."

There was a beat as if Jaskier was contemplating whether to swallow the bait or not. It was obvious one, but Jaskier has always been sucker for flattery. 

"Thank you, Geralt, I've never needed your input regarding my songs, not even when I begged you for it and I certainly don't need it now." 

There went his humming for a day.

***

"Stop," Geralt said and Jaskier stopped almost immediately. It was almost painful how fast he followed his order, even now when things went to shit between them and Geralt would be touched if his heart wasn't carved out of stone. 

"What is it?" asked Jaskier, fully alert now. "What stunning deadly beast is waiting for us over the corner?"

"None."

"So?"

"The sun," replied Geralt.

"Yeah?" Jaskier looked up expecting to see something. "I'm aware it exists, too, Geralt. Your perception skills really ain't that special." 

"It's high. Well past midday." Geralt paused. "You're hungry."

Jaskier squinted at him, amused, "Am I, now?"

"You haven't eaten since the morning. Beyond that lone raspberry when you thought I wasn't looking."

Jaskier pursed his lips. He was about to argue. He was about to argue about something so small, so utterly _pointless_ , and maybe that was something they both desperately needed. 

_And who are you to decide when I am hungry?_

__

_I'm the one who is worried about you._

__

_About us._

But Jaskier's stomach growled at the exactly right moment, stealing whatever wind form his argument, so he sat down on the nearest rock, taking food out of his bag, chewing forcefully. Geralt threw him bread he bought for them both and without thanks he caught it.

They were eating in silence and the sound of it was grating on Geralt's nerves. How could be the silence so deafening, so fucking loaded? And how could he mind when he wished for silence so often? Life was _a fucking joke_.

"Look, Jaskier," he started, voice gravely, low. Jaskier's eyes snapped to him. There was something dark and pleading in them that made Geralt halt. And in those few seconds all bravery left him. Because he knew what things usually did when he thought they couldn't get much worse.

He cleared his throat. "We probably won't make it to the town. Might have to camp again."

"Sure," replied Jaskier and Geralt pretended there wasn't disappointment in his eyes.

***

Well, that was his luck, wasn't it. Because the place he chose for camping, while ideal for their needs, reminded Geralt of that fateful night just tad too much.

Just tad too much that the memory of peaceful morning helped him fall asleep and the memory of the night made him dream what he hasn't dared to dream.

Jaskier's hand in his hair gripping just on the edge of painful. Jaskier's nails on his back, scratching lightly on his scars.

_"So you're telling me if you…. if you_ don't _…" Jaskier gulped, "you'll die. I'm not gonna risk that."_

Jaskier pinned underneath him, warm and sweaty. Absolutely cocksure and ludicrous at that.

_Well I am!_

Geralt not so much as letting Jaskier change their position as being forced to.

_Jaskier taking few steps forward him, while he took those exact steps back._

Jaskier's weight on top of him and his laughter. O _h, his laughter_ , a precious thing, free and wild like the bard himself.

_Look me in the eye, Geralt. You're fucking not._

Geralt opened his eyes.

Even the fucking _smell_ was the same. Same trees, same plants, same compound of the soil.

_Same Jaskier._

Geralt wriggled on his bedroll.

Same _slightly aroused_ Jaskier.

Fuck. 

He risked one look his way knowing he couldn't see him and he smirked despite himself. So he wasn't only one having those kinds of dreams tonight. Should be fucking relief, shouldn't it. 

Jaskier was fully asleep, enjoying the dreamland on the opposite side of their camp. It wasn't the hottest night, but no cold could be excuse enough for him to lie next to Geralt, it seemed. And Geralt idly missed being able to throw his arm around him and pretend it was only because last time Jaskier got cold he sneezed right into his fucking face. 

Either way, it wouldn't be good idea now.

Jaskier moaned a little and Geralt stilled, desperately willing his body not to respond to it. Definitely didn't need to be bothered more.

He wanted to look away, but then something changed. Jaskier started squirming and instead of pleased his moans became frightened. Drop of sweat appeared on his forehead and one high whine later Geralt was on his feet, walking towards Jaskier. He dropped to one knee and lightly shook his shoulder.

"Jaskier," he growled, "Jaskier, c'mon. Wake up."

Jaskier startled. Sucking gulp of air through parted lips, his eyes suddenly shot wide open. There was wilderness in his features. Darkness and pain, desperation and _lust_ and Geralt hasn’t dared to _breathe_.

There was a beat as Jaskier took him in. Geralt's hand still touching his shoulder, his body hovering slightly over him. 

The second passed and Geralt's heart hasn’t beaten right where it was supposed to.

Jaskier lurched at him.

There were his fingers on his neck and Jaskier was kissing him and before Geralt knew, he was kissing him right back.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

It was messy and desperate and everything he dreamt of and not _just_ _not_ enough. Jaskier's hand slipped from his neck to the front of his shirt, gripping tightly. _Fuck._ This wasn't right. Yet he wanted, he _wanted_ so much… Jaskier's hands were shaking and he covered them by his own and started to pull away. Before he could do so Jaskier's teeth caught his lip, grazing lightly and Geralt wanted no more than fucking _weep_.

_"No, Jaskier."_ More plea than a whisper, more begging than asking.

Jaskier stilled. His eyes were searching his face and he must have been quite a sight, never feeling more desperate.

He wanted the bard. But not like this. Never like this. 

Not out of pity. 

Not out of… _convenience_.

Not just for a second, before he decides he's not worth the trouble. 

Something flashed through Jaskier's eyes, something that curled his mouth into annoyed pout. He hurled himself at Geralt. 

This time Geralt dodged.

Jaskier instantly froze. He let his hands slip from underneath Geralt's and with a look of absolute betrayal and disgust stood up. 

He went to the furthest corner of their camp, facing away from Geralt.

"Jaskier…"

" _Don't_ ," his voice was surprisingly clear.

Geralt desperately run hand through his face. _Fuck_. In a civilization this wouldn't happen. If they reached a civilization, Jaskier would be sleeping in somebody else's bed and Geralt wouldn't be the one to shake him off his nightmare right into Geralt's own.

He'd be imagining what he's doing and who he’s doing it with but it still would be better than this vague horrid sense of fucking up once again, despite not knowing what else could be done.

Shit. 

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. _Fucking_ s _hit_. He really should have pushed for the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when a humble bard  
>  saved witcher's life  
>  all he got in return  
>  was heartbreak and _fucking spurn_
> 
>   
> 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments. They make me smile so wide :D
> 
> Find me also on [tumblr](https://eranawrites.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	5. The touch

_"For fuck's sake,"_ snapped Geralt, taking his arm from his eyes, _"could you stop that?!"_

It was the night of their hunt-went-wrong and while the fact that it was his sword in Jaskier's hand what killed the beast or the fact that he endangered bard - again - should be high on his list of concerns, it wasn't the only thing irritating him right now.

He was laying on his bedroll, furthest away from the fireplace because, even though the fire died out long ago, it was still too fucking hot. After using the salve Jaskier gave him on his stomach wound, he didn't bother putting on a shirt. Actually, just a half-hour ago he got rid of his pants too, sweating like a madman. __

And he _was_ a madman. Hyperaware of anything and _everything_. From the way that fucking beetle over there was climbing up the tree, it's tiny legs scratching on the bark, to the lone needle from a tree that fell on the severed monster part he took as their proof of kill, through the way the fabric of his smallclothes was sitting on his skin, feeling too tight now, to- 

"I'm not doing anything," said Jaskier.

To the way his cock twitched every time he remembered Jaskier's hands on his skin.

It was _stupid._ Utterly stupid. It wasn't even _real_ touch. Jaskier just wiped blood from his face and hinted to him to turn around. Basically _nothing_. He was used to so much more from him. Grabbing and gripping, nudges and occasional deathgrips, even his fucking _hugs_. He kept that to minimum lately and Geralt tried his best not to let it anger him. Not outwardly, at least.

"You're _breathing,"_ Geralt hissed, _"So. Fucking. Loud."_

"Sorry, Geralt, but as a mere mortal I do need oxygen." He smirked. "Thought they taught you that in that fancy witcher school of yours?"

Geralt let out air through his nose. _"They also taught me how to kill a man."_

__

"And still it's I,"Jaskier leaned his head to the side, smug, "who did the killing tonight. _Also,"_ he said from his position, where he was sitting on a log in front of died out fire, "if somebody's to complain about loud breathing, it's me. You've been fuming for over what? The past half an hour?" 

He set his lute aside, the one he was just protectively holding, not playing.

"Really. Are you okay, Geralt?"

"I'm _fine."_

__

"Doesn't sound like it." 

Geralt scowled. But if he really wanted to be honest - which he didn't, of course - he had to agree. His voice came out more strained, more loaded than he intended. And frankly, that was embarrassing for a witcher. What's next? He can't hold his fucking sword or slay a beast? The latter one already happened. If Jaskier wasn't there, though he sent him away before-

"Gods," Jaskier said, realization dawning on him, "you're still going strong, aren't you?" 

He had the audacity to fucking _laugh._

Geralt growled at him. Usually he didn't have problem with willing his body into relaxation. But this? It was fucking terrible. The boner wouldn't go away no matter what he tried and what _would_ make it go away was simply out of a question.

"Sorry, but even you have to admit _it's hilarious_ ," said Jaskier not even trying _not_ togrin. Geralt momentarily wanted to kill him. "Just," Jaskier smacked his lips together, "just out of some stupid sense of modesty or something, you're torturing yourself. But, well," Jaskier shrugged, "fits nicely to your character, though."

__

"What _the fuck_ do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Jaskier but then shook his head. "Nope. Of course not to you." 

Even without looking, Geralt could tell Jaskier lifted his gaze at him, his eyes piercing him. He always knew he was looking, it was some kind of sixth sense at this point. He bated his breath without even being aware he was doing it. 

"You're _too noble,_ Geralt. Always thinking what you should or shouldn't do, holding yourself to too high standards. Unnecessarily so," Jaskier shrugged again and for a moment there was just silence. Jaskier then plucked one string and let the tone resonate for a moment before abruptly cutting it off. 

"Go on. Get off. I already said I don't mind."

Geralt gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes. He wanted to ask him if was completely out of his mind now, but somehow couldn't get the words past his lips.

Jaskier just stared at him for a moment longer and then he tipped his head down, focusing on his lute. His fingers skipped on the strings and soft simple melody sounded through the air. __

__

"Fuck." There was _no way_ Geralt was doing what he insinuated. But the curse along with a low moan already slipped through his lips and he realized he already _was_. His hand between his legs, squeezing himself through the fabric. The blood in his ears pounded but he still heard Jaskier's breath hitch. The melody stopped.

He wasn't so okay with this afterall, was he?

Something petty and cruel awoke in him and knowing the bard was still looking, he gave himself another squeeze. He was already in hell, so why don't at least enjoy it?

The beetle spread it's wings and flew away from the tree and Jaskier's lips parted, just a little. He flicked his tongue between them and Geralt barely suppressed another moan. And then he realized. This wasn't normal. It just freaking _wasn't_. Far from it. _He was feeling himself in the presence of the bard._ How could anything about this be normal?His own touch felt alien to him, and not enough, never enough. The wound on his stomach pulsed, as if it had it's own heartbeat. He quickly retreated his hand.

"Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ " 

"Huh," said Jaskier slowly, his words quiet, "don't know why I imagined you might be bit more of a growler…"

Geralt shut his eyes. Damnit. It was almost fall, so why it was so hot, especially at night? He brought his hand up to run it through his face and his fingers grazed lightly over his injury. Huh. The wound on his stomach was almost healed now, too quick even for a witcher. The edges of it burned and as he shifted the slight pain poured into his body. He still felt Jaskier's gaze. He heard him licking his lips, sucking in a breath, readying the words- 

"Jaskier, _darling?"_ Geralt tried, the words pushed through his teeth, interrupting him.

He heard Jaskier leaning closer, bating his already shallow breath. The blood pounded in Geralt's stomach.

" _Shut up_."

 _"Oh, great!"_ exclaimed Jaskier, clearly disappointed."Splendid _._ Really.Just once in your life you call me a darling and you use it to be _crude_."

__

"I need to _focus_."

And that was right, wasn't it? Whatever this, _this weird feeling_ was, it was different than whatever he went through ever before. He was starting to grasp that now. 

"Well, I don't know," said Jaskier lazily. "I'd say your focus was… quite on point," he smirked. "I especially liked your hands-on approach." 

Geralt inwardly groaned. _Another_ stupid innuendo. It wasn't helping the matters, quite the opposite. How many of those did he have anyway? Was that why he was always scribbling in that notebook of his? He should steal it one day.

"Don't play with a fire, bard."

"Never been scared of flames."

And was that a challenge? It clearly sounded like a challenge. Nope, never mind. He needed to think. _Think, Geralt._ What was different than before? He agreed on a contract, tracked down the monster, told Jaskier to stay back, which he didn't, of course. He fought the monster, thought he killed it, Jaskier showed up, killed the beast and now they were here. 

Geralt forced himself to slowly exhale. He was fidgety as a rabid dog, angry as a wounded beast and he'd crawl out of his skin if he could. The unreasonable horniness wasn't helping the matters, not one bit. It mixed with a pain that flowed through his veins every time he drew a breath and blended with dull ache in his chest, he couldn't quite place. 

He squeezed his eyes. No, he was missing something. Something just _right there._ Something that didn't allow him to think, didn't allow him to concentrate more than five seconds at time. But it _was_ there, somewhere back in his mind. 

Geralt drummed his fingers against his tigh. How come his hand was down there again? He remembered placing it carefully on the ground, digging his nails into the soil. It didn't matter, not now. _Focus Geralt._

"Could use few flames, though," shuddered Jaskier.

And just like that, it all clicked into a place. 

The sound of a claw ripping through his armour. The distant memory of reading about beast no one has seen for more than three hundred years _._ The way his perception was altered. The very reason the beast got extinct. Jaskier showing up, distracting him. The beast getting through his skin, scratching him. The way the writings described the lengthy procedures of mages in an effort to weaken the beast's poison, make it less deadly. The wound at his abdomen, throbbing and acting weird.

_The effect of the poison._

All of it just for the curing effect the final product had on troubles of lords in their bedrooms. 

Geralt bit his lip, drawing blood.

The poison. The damned poison flowing undiluted in his blood now.

That's why the merchant wanted exactly that part of monster's dead body as his proof. He was going to fucking kill him. Or let Jaskier at him, that was just as good.

If, if he survives this first, that's it. 

He had no idea what it could do like this, in this sheer form. Except the obvious effect all poisons seemed to have in common. 

Death.

"You're too quiet, Geralt. Not that I mind, but your silence usually doesn't sound so… sinister."

"Listen to me, now," Geralt said steadying his voice as much as he could. "I need you to promise me something."

"What is it, Geralt?" Jaskier breathed out, his light joking demeanor serious at once.

"Whatever you do, _do not_ touch our trophy. Do you understand?"

Geralt heard Jaskier shift in his seat on his log and could just imagine the way he frowned. 

"You're… you're afraid I'll take it and sell it without you?" he asked quietly. "Why would I do that?"

He sounded bit hurt but as if he didn't want him to know. And Geralt would be concerned were this any other situation.

He heaved a breath. _"Promise me."_

There was a silence, reluctance he could have very much expected from the bard. As he was slowly coming to terms with the fact he couldn't coerce anything from him, Jaskier shifted again.

"Alright, alright. If it's so important to you - I promise. Don't know why, though. You already know you couldn't _pay me_ to touch it." 

Geralt let out a breath. Great. One less thing to worry about. He needed to calm down. The beating of his blood in his stomach, in his head, in his veins was becoming insufferable. Disconcerting. Too loud, too fast. Bringing pain where it previously wasn't. He gritted his teeth and he realized he was squeezing his eyes with the same crushing ferocity only when he felt light touch on his cheek. He opened them.

Jaskier. 

Jaskier was standing above him, worry in his face. 

"You're alright, Geralt? You've been acting weird, even for you."

Geralt rose to his elbows. The fog made out of chaos drowning his head seemed to part a bit. It all came down to the one point in time and space, one tiny point manifesting in Jaskier's hand at his cheek. Geralt let out a breath. It was just a scratch. He was going to be okay, right?

 _Wrong._

Jaskier retreated his hand. And Geralt dashed after him, gripping his hand, his fingers circled around his wrist so hard, he must have been leaving bruises. Jaskier's eyes widened but he hasn't moved, hasn't made an effort to free himself. 

There was a moment where Geralt thought of not letting him go, of touching, taking as much as he could.

 _"Shit."_ Geralt released his hand as if burned.

Jaskier stood where he was, just looking. Not even taking step back as a sane person would.

Geralt looked away, ashamed. 

"Jaskier…"

"It's alright," he said quickly, not letting him finish.

"Jaskier," Geralt gritted through his teeth again, "get the fuck away from here. Take Roach and ride back to the town." __

"What?" Jaskier frowned, confusion clear in his features. "What about the wolves? Wait," he blinked, "did you really say _Roach_?"

"What's here is worse than some stupid _wolves_ ," Geralt spat. "You can handle them. Get the fuck away."

"No," Jaskier said softly, frown on his face, "I didn't mean me. You. You and the wolves." 

"Jaskier," said Geralt, his patience growing thin. "I am a monster hunter. _I_ can handle wolves."

"Not like this."

Geralt growled at him.

"Look," Jaskier crouched next to him. "I don't know what's going on since you haven't told me. But," he put on his hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, "you're definitely _not_ alright. And I'm _not_ going away. You should've known better than to mention Roach. So be a good witcher and tell me."

Geralt leaned his head back, baring his throat in a process. His touch. It was overwhelming. Everything he needed and not enough, just fucking not enough. He believed he could come just from the idea of his fingers grazing his skin. Embarrassing, wasn't it?

"Jaskier, I need you to…"

"Yes?"

"To go." He shrugged his hand off. "The fuck. _Away_."

"That's not what you need," said Jaskier.

He figured it out, hasn't he? The touch. The touch that meant thin line between sanity and madness. Except, on both sides it was just madness. 

Was it antidote against the poison? Or was is actually making it worse?

He's heard the stories. They all have. And Geralt remembered them now. The legends of people overcome with insane, delirious lust. The kind if not sated meaning very tragic and most of all incredibly _painful_ demise. Sating them sometimes meaning even worse.

But that's all they were. Just stories. Right?

The ones men used to excuse violent actions.

Geralt shut his eyes, shaking his head a little.

"I never needed anything," he gritted. His eyes shot open, looking straight at Jaskier. "Least of all _you_ ," he spat.

For a split second he thought it was hurt what he saw on Jaskier's face. For a split second he thought he heard his heart crash open before the steel could grow around it. It almost made him want to take those words back. 

Almost. 

Jaskier's face twisted. He stood up, putting his hands on his hips. 

_"Oh, the big brute is at it again! How wonderful."_

Gaping, Jaskier kept staring at him. __

__

"Are- are we," he gestured wildly, " _really_ doing this?"

__

Geralt hasn't answered. 

"Yup. I guess we are. You surely didn't need me a month ago to stitch your stupid wound. _I fucking hate blood, Geralt."_ Jaskier crossed his arms."Most of it _yours_."

Geralt opened his mouth.

"You didn't need me," he flung his hand around, apparently just starting, unable to hold still, "just _last week_ to look after your things when you left to kill a drowner. No, you didn't need me to sing my fucking heart out to make sure we'll have room when you came back or the warm food and you also didn't need _me_ to persuade that old wench to draw you a nice hot bath when you came back completely wretched and trembling from the cold."

Jaskier tossed his head, trying to get hair from his eyes.

"You didn't need me when you were _limping_ after that fucking _bruxa_ and you certainly didn't need me when your legs gave out under you on our way to the healer." 

Jaskier nodded, as if remembering the situation. "Thanks for the experience, though. It gave me fright of _a lifetime_. _"_

He let out exasperated laugh. 

"And that's just the _last month,_ if you’ve been wondering _."_

Jaskier took steadying breath. His eyes found Geralt's and there was strange intensity in them.

"And you totally," said Jaskier quietly, "didn't need me tonight, slashing that sword through monster's heart, Geralt."

 _"No,"_ Geralt barked, angry. If he wasn't there, he wouldn't get distracted _and_ wouldn't get scratched, "if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be _here_ , sweating as a pig." 

"Stop being so fucking proud!" Jaskier yelled.

It felt like even the sounds of the forest stilled. 

"Because that's right," Jaskier said in somewhat calmer tone, "you wouldn't be here." 

The silence that followed stretched too long.

Jaskier found his eyes. " _What_ do you need, Geralt?"

"You to fucking leave," he snapped.

"I'm not going anywhere. Wolves, remember?"

"Well, this one is about to bite your throat out!"

"Charming, Geralt. _Really_ charming. I wanna see you try." Jaskier crouched again, slowly putting his hand on his shoulder, holding him at arm's length. Geralt hissed at the touch but let his head roll back all the same.

"What is it, Geralt?" he asked, quiet.

"Poison," Geralt answered not bringing his head up.

"Do you have an antidote?"

"No."

"Can we get it from the healer?"

Geralt shook his head. "Not enough time. Possibly doesn't exist."

"Am I," Jaskier took a breath, "am I making it better or worse?"

"Better," Geralt peeked at Jaskier, opening one eye, "and worse."

Jaskier exhaled, trying not to shake.

"We'll get through it together. Figure something out."

"No," Geralt said, raising his head, looking him in the eye. "I don't _want_ you there." He shook his hand off and stood up. His head spun but he still could walk a straight line.

Jaskier gritted his teeth. _"Too fucking bad, Geralt."_ He stood up too. "There has to be something. Something you're not telling me."

Geralt kept his mouth stubbornly shut. His back to him, arms crossed.

Jaskier approached him, his feet silent. He was a singer, dancer, moving with grace, able to go unnoticed. He reached his hand and touched his shoulder again, as if his shoulders were safe, as if anywhere else he needed his permission. 

Geralt relaxed into his touch, his whole body melted before he realized what was happening and his head snapped. He went to move out from his hand but Jaskier's hand squeezed him, holding him in a place. 

"If my touch makes you better, I'll hold you till my arms fall off. Not even your witcher's strength can stop me."

Geralt stilled. He took breath deep into his lungs, tasting night on the air, the trees, _Jaskier_ and felt his body scream at him to touch, possess and let himself be touched and possessed in turn.

"You shouldn't count on it," he said quietly before clasping his hand with his own and forcefully removing it from his shoulder. He might have crushed his fingers a bit in a process but he decided he'll worry about it some other time while knowing he might not get the chance.

He took few steps away, _away from him,_ hoping it will clear his head a little and knowing it will certainly won't. The pain that seemed to disappear with his touch, came back stronger. 

__

"What's the outcome of the poison Geralt? Tell me. What's its fucking end result?"

Geralt kept silent.

"Are you - are you just gonna be uncomfortable for a bit, are you getting sick, will your balls fall off-"

"What is the result of every potent poison, Jaskier?" he asked quietly.

He heard Jaskier draw a breath. Geralt shook his head and started moving again. If Jaskier won't go away, he as well could. It was for the best.

 _"And you - you give up so easily beacause…?"_ Jaskier sprinted around him, stopping in front of him, his hands outstretched as if pacifying some wild animal. And he was in a way, wasn't he? 

Geralt gave him once-over and simply cocked his head to the side. 

_Clearly distraught._

__

There was nothing to be distraught over. It was what it was. He didn't imagine it will end like this, but, well, few people got to choose. At least he had stars above his head, forest air in his nostrils. 

The memories of someone once caring.

He stepped aside to walk around Jaskier, but Jaskier took the same step with him. He frowned at him, tried taking another step.

Jaskier moved with him. 

"Hm," Geralt's frown deepened. They weren't really doing this, were they? 

"You're not getting out of this, Geralt. Not even you're fool enough to think I'm letting you go."

Geralt took another step and Jaskier predictably mirrored him. It was the weirdest fucking dance in his life and he was once forced to dance with _Lambert_.

When he went to move again, now familiar hand on his shoulder stopped him. Geralt took his eyes from hand on his shoulder to Jaskier, enraged. He twisted his hand, pushing his forearm slightly above Jaskier's elbow to wring him off. And that's what would have happened but Jaskier held with more might he anticipated. 

Only thing Geralt's move caused was just that Jaskier clasped also his other shoulder.

Geralt frowned. Jaskier frowned too.

Geralt repeated his move with more brawn and this time Jaskier let go. Only for second. Because almost immediately he was gripping him again. They repeated it few times until Geralt stopped for a second, letting Jaskier up-hand him once more. He was quick, Geralt had to give it to him.

And apparently he had balls of steel, because when Geralt growled at him, and tried to throw him off again, he just smirked. He _didn't want_ to fight with him and most of all he _didn't want_ to use witcher strength on him. It wasn't fair. But that one reserved for humans wasn't clearly working.

He brought his hands up again, ready to use inhuman force to break free, but few centimeters before the impact, Jaskier let go.

He was a clever thing, like that. Knowing where to push and where to step back. Just usually not having enough self-control or motivation for that. Pity. He could be really deadly. 

And while Geralt was still processing the fact that his hands hit air - thanks fuck for that, really, who knows what nasty bruise Jaskier would have - Jaskier hauled his whole weight at Geralt. He tackled him to to ground. They went rolling, Geralt momentarily having breath knocked out of him and _of course_ Jaskier seized the opportunity.

He crawled on the top of him, straddling his hips. He leaned his hands on Geralt's chest for support and Geralt's eyes rolled back in his head. They were both heavily panting, though Geralt had more than one reason.

Jaskier sat back on him and Geralt _ow_ -ed at that, his weight torturing in more ways than one. He buckled underneath him to throw him off, but Jaskier sat back just more firmly and Geralt didn't have it in him to try it again, not fighting back anymore. He was already calming under his touch, his head clearing a bit and not letting him _think_ at the same time besides the feel of Jaskier's touch on his body.

 _"There,"_ Jaskier said with small victorious grin. He wriggled a bit on him and-

Fuck. Shit. _Shit. Shit. Shit-_

His eyes squeezed on their own accord, his jaw suddenly set tight.

It was-

And he was-

Absolutely awful. That's what it was.

Outrageous and unacceptable and-

Geralt gritted his teeth.

_…perfect…_

__

Another second went by and the feeling of bliss and _wrongness_ of it came crashing down on him. It made him snap from his haze to defend himself once more and Jaskier just fucking _tsked_ at him. 

Geralt's mouth fell closed. Jaskier leaned more of his weight onto his hands on his chest. And Geralt just kept looking up into that ridiculous, impossible face.

__

_"_ I won," said Jaskier softly as if it still wasn't clear. 

Geralt let out shallow breath. 

"Jaskier," he started, patience in his voice, he clearly didn't feel, though his breath did come out ragged, "you're sitting on my…"

"Ow, sorry. Your wound."

That… wasn't what he meant. 

Jaskier nonetheless moved back a bit, sitting more on his thighs, and yup, that really wasn't what he meant. Geralt's head fell back. Swallowing, he closed his eyes. 

He thought briefly of all the wrong turns he took in life that made him worthy of punishment such as this. He did a lot of shady stuff, sure but he tried. He _tried_ , okay? He knew he'd never be up there among… among white knights or whatever but he had _no idea_ he was doing _this_ bad.

"Let go off me," he said weakly.

__

"No."

"I'll throw you off," Geralt cracked one eye open. "You know I can do that."

"You wouldn't _dare_."

"Just the same how you didn't dare to push me down on the hard ground?"

"You're pretty solid, Geralt. _Made out_ of muscles harder than the forest floor." Jaskier patted his chest with a shit-eating grin, "So no guilt-tripping me. I think you can take it." 

Geralt groaned.

"Besides," he said and Geralt didn't like the way his eye glinted. He leaned more into his view, _"I'll do more than that. Don't tempt me."_

__

He smiled. He smiled and Geralt decided to rather close his eyes.

"Great." Jaskier patted his chest again. "Now we're clear on that…" 

Pat.

"….you can spill the beans…"

Another pat.

"…is there anything…" his voice changed quality, "…I can do?" he finished and he had no business sounding so tender, so fucking concerned.

"Yeah," Geralt opened one eye, "leave me alone."

"Oh, fuck off!" Jaskier smacked his chest, "I'm not doing _that_. _"_

"You sure _are."_ __

__

Geralt rose and put his hands on Jaskier's hip. He pushed him off himself to the side and frankly, he expected more resistance. But maybe he was just taken aback, not really believing in Geralt putting his hands where his mouth was. His face was clearly offended when his bottom connected with the ground. 

Geralt didn't wait for him to compose himself and stood up and started walking away.

"You can run, Geralt," called Jaskier from the ground, "but you know in the end I will catch up with you."

Geralt stopped, his back stiff. He turned his head to the side.

"Leave me be, bard."

Before his quiet words could echo through the forest, Jaskier shuffled on the ground. In a second he was on his feet, approaching him. And though Geralt had all the time in the world to flee, he didn't. Jaskier came to his side, crowding into his space. Their faces were just centimeters away but Geralt stood his ground, refusing to move. Jaskier bared his teeth.

 _"Never,"_ he hissed.

Something in Geralt cracked. 

His face twisted and-

He pushed him away.

Jaskier stumbled.

"I said," growled Geralt, " _leave me be."_

He didn't see the hurt or indignation in Jaskier, the heartbreak or the rage. Geralt was too far gone for that. He just saw as something shifted in him. Some resolution, intensity in Jaskier he saw so many times before but back then he was just mere observer. It was something else to stand against him and he knew very well what that look in his eye meant. He was _not_ backing down. 

His mouth twitched, just a bit, the way it did just before he was about to swallow some fool whole. 

Dumbly Geralt realized, he was the fool in question.

"Bugger off, _"_ Geralt grumbled, his voice raw, "Don't you understand?" he said lowly. And the words that followed were the lowest he'd ever been. "I don't _need_ you. I don't _want_ you. Why don't you," he shouted, "go the fuck away!"

He shouted and Jaskier hollered _right back_.

"You'd fucking wish!"

He put his hand on him. It made Geralt's head spin, the urgency of feeling truly ridiculous. He loosened up and tensed at the same time, felt the spasm travelling all the way down his body and hated, _hated_ the hint of thrill it brought him. His mouth slacked momentarily and it took all his strenght to snap out of it. The frustration, the anger, the rage, all came rolling.

 _"I do!"_ Geralt shouted. _"I'd wish you let me just fucking die under the stars as I always wanted, Jaskier!"_

__

"You can dream on! _Fuck,"_ Jaskier spat through gritted teeth. His grip loosened momentarily before clutching him again. Jaskier turned his head to the side as if he was restraining himself and squeezed his eyes.

"My touch… Why are you so afraid of bit of cuddles?"

Geralt tried to push his hand off of him but Jaskier clasped him just more firmly.

"It," stuttered Jaskier, "it eases the tension, the- the pain, doesn't it?"

_"No."_

Jaskier spread his fingers and Geralt's knees almost buckled.

"You're miserable _liar_."

"And you're," Geralt pushed through his teeth, sounding more than little out of breath even _before_ Jaskier decided to squeeze again, _"insufferable."_

__

"Maybe," Jaskier's mouth quirked but there was no mirth in his eyes, "but you knew that even before you let me trail after you, so that's on you." 

"And it was fucking mistake!"

_"The hell it was!"_

__

His fingers were crushing him now, and it shouldn't even register. If he were a mortal, he'd be leaving bruises, but he wasn't and thus it shouldn't bother him the way it did. His touch. Far from delicate or soft. Leaving him breathless, helpless and wanting, _craving more._

"I'll hold you whole month if I have to!"

"Holding won't do!"

"Then what?!"

Geralt told him.

In the followed silence Geralt could hear growing of the grass from the mile away.

Jaskier's hand slipped from him and he took the opportunity to step back.

But Geralt _did_ look him in the eye when Jaskier ordered him to, and he _did_ find there resolve hard as a diamond and his heart _did_ make a leap in his chest when he realized that it's going to happen, no matter what. 

He retreated unaware of the trunk behind him. His leg hit the bark. 

That was it. No more running.

Still holding his eye, Jaskier stepped to him.

Geralt let out shuddering breath. 

He didn't think in that moment of the years and adventures they had or many more he was probably losing.

He didn't think of the nights when his voice lulled him to sleep or those he forbade himself to think about him and many more when he broke this promise.

He didn't think of future and he didn't want to think about the past. 

He just thought of him.

The brilliance in his eyes, the kindness of his heart, the unhinged energy, his annoying idiotism and truly _painful_ loyalty of his soul.

Just… Jaskier. 

Jaskier raised his hand. He let it hover over Geralt's shoulder for a moment, hesitant for the first time that night. 

Geralt's head fell back, hitting the trunk, but he didn't, _couldn't_ look away.

He watched through half-lidded eyes as something in Jaskier shifted and he closed the gap, his hands travelling up and down his shoulders.

Geralt gasped. 

His touch. Dangerous, mind-altering. Speaking, _whispering_ to him in a way never anything did. The fingers used to hard strings were playing on his skin and when he felt his hand wander to his chest he didn't bother keeping in the moan. 

Jaskier's breath hitched at that.

He didn't stop his ministrations though, his eyes wide and dark, his hand going lower, grazing planes of his stomach, careful not to touch now almost non-existent wound. He continued lower, his fingers stumbling at the edge of fabric until he was finally palming at bulge through Geralt's smallclothes. In that moment Geralt's whole existence shuddered.

He heard Jaskier gasping too, and before he knew, he had his hands around Jaskier, frantic, pulling him close.

He stopped at the last moment, one his hand tangled in Jaskier's hair, their faces close. 

Corner of Jaskier's mouth quirked. He found his eyes and raised his chin, tugging at Geralt's hand in his hair. 

He let out a shaking breath.

 _"Go on, wolf,"_ he whispered.

The rest was lost in the pounding of their hearts, in the feel of solid muscles warm under his fingers, in the way Jaskier came alive under his touch.

In his teeth, his smell, his touch, his taste. Suddenly everything was Jaskier.

And everything he should or shouldn't do became completely lost in him, disappearing in pants and moans and screams neither of them cared to keep in anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. That was fun. This chapter wasn't planned when I started posting so that's why it took so long. Hope you enjoyed it. (Also, I'm pretty sure most of you caught it, but this happens directly after chapter 2.) 
> 
> As always, thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos!


	6. Stop hooking up with monsters, dammit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic got 100 kudos and... wow. Thank you so much. And your comments. I want to print them and put them on my wall. You make all this worthwhile. So big thanks again, I'm humbled.

"…whore of a bard." Geralt's eyes snapped. The tavern they were in was full of noises, chattering voices. It was difficult to concentrate but his mind somehow always chose relevant ones. His hand was almost halfway to his sword, reflex really, when he realized that the said bard had plenty of people around to defend him. 

Pity. Because breaking some bastard's nose would definitely lift sprits. Killing monsters just didn't feel the same.

"No, no darling," he heard Jaskier say softly. Somehow it was always easy to pick out his voice. Jaskier pulled his hand from the girl's chest that he laid there to stop her from jumping at the offender's throat. She was nice and feisty, the lively type, probably tackled down more than one guy in her course.

"He's right," Jaskier's lips pulled into smile, not a happy one, there was more of a performance, more of ferocity in it. He shrugged off his doublet. Under which he had - damn the man - very familiar torn shirt that was now revealing his chest. He pulled the woman into his lap and after initial yelp she went willingly.

The tavern was bigger, crowded and Jaskier went furthest he could escape from Geralt but he knew, _he must knew_ , he would hear him, knew exactly where he was. Sitting in a corner, away from a light. 

_"If I am a whore,"_ Jaskier whispered into woman’s neck, his voice low, seductive, though he wasn't looking at her. 

His eyes pierced the shadows and his words, his words Geralt heard clear as a day.

_"I have to look like it."_

He kissed her neck and the woman giggled. 

Geralt felt sick to his stomach.

***

Jaskier bought twelve rings. Geralt didn't know _how_ he figured it out but he _did know_ that Jaskier bought twelve rings. He wasn't completely sure what to do with this information. It wasn't like Jaskier _told_ him, or like _he_ went sniffing out every detail that could advise him what Jaskier's been up to lately. He wasn't talking to him, not really, despite Geralt's half-asssed efforts. 

Geralt hoped to buy him dinner at least; after the performance where he was still his annoyingly chirpy, flirty self, but obviously, Jaskier wasn't interested. Not sparing him a single look, after bowing down, he joined the first group offering to buy him a drink.

Of course. He should have known better.

It wasn’t anything new. They were spending ridiculously little time together, although Jaskier for whatever goddamn's reason still traveled alongside him. It was annoying. And it was a relief nonetheless.

So Geralt sat in his corner, deterring anyone stupid enough to wander in his general direction with scowls. He knew that sensible thing would be to leave, and he _should have,_ really, at least an hour ago, but he wasn't feeling very sensible tonight. His mind was running in fucking circles. He frowned into his mug.

He had _no idea_ why _twelve_ , it was not like he could wear them all _at once_ , was it, and Geralt inwardly groaned. Somehow he didn't feel like he had the _right_ to ask, which was just fucking stupid. 

It was _eating at him_ though; when he wouldn't stay awake at night thinking about how much he fucked up, he would be looking at the stars and asking why _anybody_ wouldbuy _exactly_ twelve rings - and, on second thought, maybe just _maybe_ that was the plan. It was working.

The glimmer caught his eye and Geralt looked up from his ale. It was from Jaskier's hand as he stood up - the ring number five tonight - light catching on the shiny metal. 

Geralt's gaze followed him all the way towards the door and only there, when people parted a little, he noticed that his other hand was clasped with some woman's. It was different than the one sitting in his lap before and sense of _wrong_ flooded Geralt's head. 

He sat there for a beat more as they slipped through the door and then squeezed his eyes and gritted his teeth. __

__

_Dammit._

There was something unsettling about the picture. He gripped the edge of the table to steady himself and took sharp breath. Even if it was just his stupid jealousy, he stood up and set to do what he knew the bard would surely hate. 

Follow him. 

It wasn't hard to figure out where they went; there weren't that many places for eager couples. He didn't even need his enhanced senses but he still followed Jaskier's smell and Jaskier's only. He might have actually closed his eyes for a bit, letting his scent lead him. When he opened them again, he was standing in front of a lone stable well past its prime. At the edge of the town, half-crumbled though with roof. Still more than sufficient for a quick fuck. 

Years ago, when he was reasonably drunk, Geralt remarked on Jaskier's habit of choosing different conquest every night.

"You're like sailor," said Geralt back then, his words slurring a little and Jaskier looked at him amused. 

"In every port, different woman," he clarified as if Jaskier didn't know what he meant. 

"No, Geralt," he resolutely patted his hand resting on a table, "I am just somewhat of epicure," he straightened in his seat, his mannerism more posh than the filthy tavern deserved, "firm _believer_ in people's _gods given right_ to indulge themselves in more enjoyable aspects of their miserable lives. As such, it'd be _unspeakably_ cruel of me," he dramatically put hand on his chest, "to deny those lovely people _undisputable_ pleasures of my company."

He released his hand and winked at him, "It's not my fault that I am only one and there's so many of them, right?" He smiled, wide, "Better to let them have for a moment, than never."

He winked at him and for several nights after Geralt knew no peace. 

_"Glutton,"_ he muttered.

But the words _than never, than never…_ drummed in his tired mind, and, really, after two days he just wanted to slap him for it. He didn't.

In front of stable, wind carded through his hair. Geralt paused not entirely sure what he was doing there. Jaskier was his own person and he could and _will_ do whatever the fuck he wants. All things considered Geralt wasn't entirely sure he wanted to see it in person, either. But something pushed him further and taking deep breath he entered.

He saw them almost immediately, in the far corner. Two figures, engaged in each other, kissing sloppily. Geralt's stomach churned. Then they moved, Jaskier was exposing his neck and-

 _Fuck_.

Only now it hit Geralt.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

How could he be so stupid? There was _only Jaskier's_ smell afterall.

__

In few strides he was at them. The woman froze, _good,_ and Jaskier's eyes widened. 

"What the hell, Geralt-"

But he was already manhandling him from her grip and fortunately she didn't put up a fight. He positioned himself between Jaskier and the woman and the woman just looked at him. He reached one his hand behind to shield Jaskier. 

Jaskier, however hit his shoulder with his fist few times from behind.

"What - _move you, son of-_ "

"Stop hitting me, Jaskier," he growled.

 _"Oh, cockblocking, are we?"_ scorned Jaskier, but he did stop hitting him. "That's low, that's low even for you, Geralt. Let me give you an advice," he said, something cruel in his voice. "Rather get lost. You know I _don't mind_ an audience." 

__

For a half second Geralt thought about humoring him and moving out of the way. But Jaskier was spiteful; he'd fuck the pretty vampire in front of Geralt's eyes just to prove him some non-existent point and that… 

That, however tempting, wasn't worth breaking of his skin. __

__

"You can't fuck her," he said simply.

"And who the hell you think you are to decide-"

"Maybe I wasn't specific enough," said Geralt still eyeing the woman. "I _won't let you_ fuck her _."_

__

Jaskier laughed, loud and ugly. _"Well, fuck me,_ you won't let me?! And, pray tell, in which universe are you living, Geralt?" __

"In the one," he said not tearing his eyes from the woman, "where she's a vampire. Not sure what kind though."

The woman just smiled, her teeth almost visible.

There was a beat as his words finally reached Jaskier's brain.

" _No_ ," Jaskier breathed out. 

Although, Geralt heard rather clear interest in his voice. Jaskier pushed Geralt's hand out of his way and started walking _towards the vampire_. 

Really.

Geralt wanted to pinch his nose and howl in frustration.

"Now, now my fair _lady,"_ Jaskier turned towards the woman, new lilt to his tone. "I _am_ pretty sure you neglected to mention this _sinfully delightful_ information. I'm all for having kinks negotiated _beforehand_ but _luckily_ for you biting is my-"

Geralt yanked him by collar before the idiot could get himself into more trouble.

He hauled him outside and when they were in safe distance, with a push he released him. 

"What the _fuck_ you're doing, Jaskier?" 

"Trying to get myself laid, you- you oaf? So if you're not gonna do it, _which you're not,"_ he started walking way, "then please fucking excuse m-"

"You're trying to get yourself killed, that's what it is." 

Jaskier stopped in his tracks and laughed. It wasn't pretty sound. He turned, spreading his hands. 

"Maybe _I am!_ What's it to you anyway?"

__

_"Everything,"_ Geralt hissed.

"Well, it doesn't _look_ like it!"

Cold night air ruffled his hair and Geralt just _stared_. The desperation in Jaskier's face felt sudden, and so much like an echo of his own frustration. Few stars got through the clouds above their heads and shone their frigid light, covering them in shadows, but still somehow illuminated Jaskier's expression, somewhere between rage and despair. They both quieted, waiting, gazing at each other. 

"Do you think I don't see how you're looking at me?" spoke Jaskier, his eyes wild and angry.

"Since we- since I fucked you?" he asked. "Like- like I bleached Roach or something and on the top of that stabbed her several times."

"No," Geralt shook his head, growling, "I am looking at you like you could up and leave at any damn given moment! _As you should!"_

"Oh, that's what you want, isn't it? Might have mentioned it _twenty fucking years ago!"_

"I did," he said because well, it was true, wasn't it. In the beginning he tried to send him away more than once and he could not just _not_ call Jaskier's bullshit out even now.

"Fuck you, Geralt."

Geralt lips curled and he smirked. _"You did."_

Jaskier blinked at him, his mouth agape. There was offence in his face mixed with amusement as if he couldn't believe his ears, and another emotion was trying to get hold of him, the one Geralt could not exactly read. 

"Is this your fucking idea of apologizing?"

"For saving your life again?" Geralt fake-considered for a moment. _"Sure."_

Jaskier opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. 

_"Fuck you, Geralt."_

__

The venom dripped through his lips, such pure and raw and _biting_ and Geralt hasn't heard it like that, not even when he was talking about Valdo fucking Marx. Sighing, he reconciled.

"Okay, Jaskier," he put his hands up, amicable. "Look, I am sorry. I apologize."

Jaskier crossed his arms, raised one his brow at him. 

"Then you have to do a lot better. I told you. I'm not cheap." He held his gaze. "What even _am I to you, Geralt?"_

Geralt's mind screeched to halt. Thousands words and memories flew through his brain. From their first meeting, through their numerous quarrels, nights sitting by fire, and those Jaskier spent bandaging his wounds and many more they spent gazing at stars, bizarre troubles he got him out of and into, to - to the hopeful feeling in his chest when he finally spotted him after long winter. 

And then his mind went blank. He must have looked as stupid as he felt. Jaskier couldn't really be asking… Geralt wracked his brain to come up with a suitable answer. None of them sounded right.

_His travel companion._

__

_His bard._

__

_His partner._

__

_His lov-_

__

_His idiot._

__

_His friend._

_His_ friend…

Jaskier uncrossed his arms again, not being able to hold still. 

__

_…everything…_

"Because this thing between us?" said Jaskier, tight, "It's _transaction_ , Geralt. You kill the beast, I write a song. You let me tag along, I make sure they don't spit into your face. I fuck you. You pay me. That's what it is, Geralt." Jaskier's breath caught in his throat. "Just… transaction."

"That's not what it is to me."

Jaskier hugged himself, suddenly appearing smaller, though there was defiance in his expression as he did so. 

"Then what?" he spat. "Because you can't even bring yourself to look at me." 

"Jaskier," Geralt deadpanned, "I am _very much_ looking at you right now."

" _Oh, give me a break_ , 's just coincidence," Jaskier battled his objection away as an annoying fly. "I didn't mean _now_ , you tool. But _all the time_. Since. Can't look me in the eye. As if I did something wrong." 

"You didn't."

"I know," Jaskier paused. "And I was _okay_ , Geralt," he took a ragged breath. "I was okay with it not meaning anything. Not to you at least."

"It _literally_ meant my life," he gritted through his teeth. " _You_ saved it." 

"Yeah, yeah and you hated _every_ damnsecond, I'm well aware."

Geralt's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth-

"No, no," said Jaskier irritated, "don't interrupt me, Geralt, with your empty words, I won't fall for them." He shook his head. "Not anymore." 

The scar on Geralt's chest, the one that was close to his heart started hurting all of sudden and Geralt slowly closed his mouth. 

Jaskier took a breath. 

"I was more than okay, I was-" he cackled all of sudden, "I was actually having splendid time. Another beast was dead, another town saved, and with you by my side we were off on the road as I always _yearned for_. It was _good,_ Geralt. Everything was bathed in sunlight. But no." Biting his lip he shook his head. "No, no. Not for you." 

Jaskier turned around, spreading his arms wide.

"We _fucked!_ So _what?!"_ he screamed into the night. 

Geralt was sure that even the vampire that was running into the opposite direction right now must have heard him. The birds that took off from the tree certainly did.

"Sun still shines, wind still blows, my heart still fucking _bleeds_."

He looked so broken, so wretched, so fucking beautiful in that moment that Geralt wanted to weep. Like a sad painting the artist sold his soul to make expect the painting could never make you feel half of the utter sorrow Jaskier was emitting now. 

"Not my first time, certainly not yours. Well," Jaskier shrugged, "not exactly sure whether you've done _everything_ we did before but the point is - I _was_ still your friend, Geralt. Just knew now that my imagination wasn't doing you any justice."

Geralt's eyes snapped. 

Did he-

"I was fucking okay, Geralt. I might have even been happy. Then you came and turned it all around on me." 

Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

"It _was_ the only thing I had. The memory. And then you _tainted_ it with- with fucking paying me."

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"No." He laughed in that heartbroken way of his that was slicing Geralt's soul into million pieces. "And it almost makes it worse." 

"I'm sorry," said Geralt and he really _deeply_ was. "If I could take it back-"

"Just one moment. That's what I wanted. Can't you understand that? One moment where I could pretend that maybe… just _maybe_ you…." Jaskier scoffed at himself. "You called me Julian for fuck's sake!"

He did, didn't he?

Jaskier's eyes found his and he swallowed.

"What I… did, what I offered you that night," continued Jaskier, "was for _free_. It wasn't out of goodness of my heart, though. How… how could I bear you dying? How could you want me to stand by and watch? Because that's what you've been asking of me, to let you be, to do absolutely _nothing_ to prevent it. And I never thought you that cruel. And you _were_ , Geralt, you were cruel asking me to walk away on you."

The wind started blowing again and it ruffled Jaskier's hair and his half-opened doublet. 

"That night," something cold sneaked into his tone, "was for your benefit just as well as mine." Jaskier bit down on something, forcefully chewing through it, lines of his face frowning, his eyes darkening. 

"And you know what, Geralt?" he asked in voice of someone who no longer gives a fuck.

"I _enjoyed_ it. I enjoyed that you had no choice in the matter, I enjoyed that you had to just _accept_ it, I enjoyed being able to shove it down your throat - no pun intended - and I relished in you finally admitting to needing someone and that someone being me. Even if for a night."

He looked straight at him, his eyes piercing him, gluing him to the spot.

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Even without the stakes so high. And you…" he run hand through his face, " _you asked to die before deigning to touch me."_

Geralt felt as if somebody punched him in the stomach. All air left him. He knew he should say something now, lest Jaskier hurts himself more-

Jaskier rubbed his eyes. 

"I..I _like_ you. Always did. And it's all useless. _So_ _useless_. I'm so stupid."

"No," Geralt's voice sounded hoarse. "Don't say that. Love…" Geralt winced, "love's never useless," he finished quietly.

Jaskier blinked at him.

And maybe, just maybe he should have let him fuck a vampire.


	7. You owe me a lifetime

"I'm… old, Jaskier, you know that," Geralt continued slowly, "I traveled continent up and down and all over again several times. Those beasts they send me to slay… At least half of them could be tamed pretty easily. But they choose not to."

Beasts. Why he was talking about beasts right now? But Jaskier, bless him, seemed to understand.

"That's why…" he started and Geralt nodded.

"Small difference for me, enormous for them. If I learned anything, there's not enough of love in the world. Never apologize for it. Just…" he winced again, "next time choose better person to invest it in."

_"No."_

__

"I saw you, Jaskier. I know who you are. You fall in and out of love pretty easily. It's not a bad thing. But this?" he gestured vaguely at him. "Soon it would be just another episode in your life." 

And big burning crater in his. 

"If you think that you're even bigger bastard than I thought." 

There was something big and burning behind Jaskier's eyes now as he started walking aimlessly.

"After all of this? After all of this, that's what you think? Gods, what a fool I am. Of course, that's what you think. I thought you saw me, that _only you_ ever really _saw_ me. But how could you, with both your eyes closed." 

He stopped, turning his whole body towards him. 

"Open them now, Geralt, for fuck's sake, I'm begging you, open them. Do you see me following you to the end of world over and over again? I'd do it thousand times more. I haven't woken up today or three weeks ago with sudden need to bone you and abandon you in the morning. I've woken up years and years and _years_ ago and I met you in that tavern and my life changed. And I wouldn't have it any other way. "

Geralt blinked at him.

"Fuck," Jaskier cursed, _"Fuck._ Don't know why I used to think that getting to _finally_ fuck you would _ease_ the tension. It just harbored it. _I want you even more now, if that's even possible_ ," Jaskier breathed through his teeth, lost in his own words, memories.

And Geralt was lost in memories too. The stares Jaskier's been giving him, the lingering touches, his _fucking words_ Geralt always easily dismissed as silly jokes. The way he felt when those touches stopped in the end, itch under his skin when Jaskier's words weren't flowing so freely anymore…

"Fucking lust poison, of all things," muttered Jaskier, desperate cackle barely held at the edges. "Wouldn't have guessed, that it would the thing, that'd finally push me into your orbit. But I should have. Nothing less than magic, right Geralt?" he found his eyes, "Nothing less would make you look at me."

Geralt felt the way his eyes bored into him, holding him, keeping him frozen to the spot. He felt himself licking his dry lips, his own body almost alien to him now. 

Fucking lust poison, indeed. Very sketchy, very strong. Very dangerous. It reminded him of a certain bardic someone.

Jaskier's gaze shifted, skipping to the ground and Geralt suddenly could move again.

"When you told me," continued Jaskier, "honestly Geralt,” he said quietly, shifting a little, “I wanted to laugh. I was scared for your life, sure, but part of me also wanted to just _fucking laugh._ It felt like gods _smiled upon me.”_

__

His eyes skipped to his face again, wicked, _scornful_ glee in his voice.

__

“Can you imagine, Geralt? Can you imagine _the fucking greed?"_

He wetted his lips.

"Your _best friend_ is on the verge of _death_ , and all you can think of is how friggin' lucky you are. How lucky you are there's no one else to help him."

He quieted for a moment, stern expression around his mouth, around his eyes, and Geralt kept silent too.

After a moment, gulping, Jaskier nodded.

"It was perfect in a way. Dream come true. Really." Avoiding his eye, Jaskier absentmindedly nodded again. "One has to admire the poetry of it, you know? You're fucked if you don't get fucked. Easy peasy." 

Jaskier caught him looking and held his gaze.

"It wasn't even bother, Geralt. It wasn't even a _problem_. But you went and turned it into problem _after_."

Jaskier bit his lower lip, eyes unfocused again, as if restraining himself. He distractedly scratched at his elbow. But then words slipped from him.

"Pouch," he muttered, weary. He rubbed at his face, hand half-covering his mouth. "One fucking pouch. That's how much our friendship is worth."

And Geralt suddenly understood now, his foolishness, his guilt and shame smacking him right in the face. That sinking feeling at the realization hurt, real physical tangible pain in his chest and before he could even begin to process it, Jaskier was talking again.

"I volunteered, Geralt," he said, letting his hand fall at his side. One his shoulder rose slightly up and fell down again. "I _volunteered_ to suck you off even before we knew what it was. And you didn't even seem to notice."

"I did," said Geralt after a moment, his voice strained. The image of Jaskier kneeling in front of him, eyes huge and mischievous the first time he noticed what was going on, forever burned in his traitorous mind. 

__

_Don't you want a moment or…?_

__

As much a joke as a genuine offer. One he couldn't accept. Not at least till his existence wasn't hanging on that very thread.

Jaskier nodded, short. "Then you chose not to…"

"Didn't want to assume."

"Assume what?" scoffed Jaskier, eyeing him from the side. "That I wouldn't be willing? That I wouldn't sell my firstborn for a chance to-" Jaskier shut his mouth, the jaw and line of his neck tight.

"Anything," Geralt said. "I can't afford to assume _anything,_ Jaskier."

"Then don't," he said harshly. "Don't assume, Geralt. It's that easy."

There was silence again as Jaskier chewed through the words and feelings, his shoulders pulled taut and Geralt ached to reach out and touch, to haunt all that stillness, tightness away. 

"Fucking lust magic," muttered Jaskier after moment, not being able to keep silent. "I can at least cross it off my bucket list."

Geralt nodded, simply for not knowing what else to do. But the idea of Jaskier having bucket list caught him off guard and he idly wondered what else he had on it and whether bedding a witcher was high. He didn't have time to contemplate it more as Jaskier was talking again.

"I kept my mouth shut. Since." Jaskier said, shrugging a little, "Just as not to spook you. _Me,"_ he laughed a bit, "a little bard trying not to spook big scary witcher."

He swallowed, somewhat nervous. 

"I tried _so hard_ not to even fucking think about it.Because if I thought about it, I would surely start talking. And if I ever started talking… I would never be able to stop." 

He was looking into the distance, avoiding Geralt's stare.

"Whole fucking poem manifested in my mind, Geralt, before I even opened eyes in the morning. Before you spoke I had finished melody based just on the way your skin smells. Your heartbeat beneath my palm would last me a month worth in songs. And oh, your voice, that awful, exquisite rumble that gets me shivering even when I'm not lying underneath that amazing hulk of muscles of yours. It's not fair," he said, only now his eyes flickering to Geralt's face.

"Do you even know how stunning you are? What fucking privilege it was to look at you that night? Even in the morning, in the river, with you naked and wet… It took everything in me not to jump you right there and then."

Jaskier licked his lips.

"It's not fair, Geralt," he repeated, "because I'm sure you don't think of me like that. And I made peace with it. Even after…" Jaskier gulped. 

" _But then,"_ he said, "I kissed you. Stupid, right," he shrugged. "But, in my defense, I just saw you _die_ in my dream because I simply _wasn't enough."_

Geralt felt pang in his chest. He wanted to fall to his knees and hugging him whisper over and over again until he believed it: _You are, you are._

__

He didn't.

"Greater man would fall in moment like this. And you," continued Jaskier with new anger, _"you kissed me back._ And I don't know what to _think_ anymore."

Geralt just stared unable to do more. He was fully aware of the rage rolling off the bard, the chaotic energy flooding through his veins, getting more and more persistent and harder and harder to ignore and he knew no way how to _soothe it_. It wouldn't even feel right, the same way you don't try to stop waterfall or lighting.

"Despite your bravery I know of your cowardice and I am _angry_ , Geralt. So angry. Because I thought that maybe… maybe… " he took breath through his nose.

"And it still feels like _my_ problem, _my fucking fault_. Just because you got scratched by some nature's freak."

His hand twitched as if it wanted to be thrown in grand gesture but he kept steady.

"Just because Mr. Feels nothing couldn't get over one night of senseless fucking. But," he drew a breath, "what was the other option? Letting you die? As if I could deny you, as if I could _deny myself_ something I wanted since…" he cut himself off, caught Geralt's eye from the side.

"Fucking hell, Geralt," he said after a long moment of silence, "I get it. You're big bad witcher, you don't feel a thing. _Monster,_ " he said mocking, "How fucking _convenient_. Stop lying to me. To yourself. Witcher with no feelings," Jaskier scoffed, "I have yet to meet one. But," he continued, "I _need you_ to stop being _so fucking stoic_. Now. Say something so I don't feel like I'm talking to stony wall."

"I… shouldn't have offered you money. I see that now. I'm sorry."

Jaskier laughed, "Don't tell me _this_ is what you got out of that. I _don't care_ for you calling me a whore. I don't care for _anyone_ calling me that. Hell, maybe _I am_ a whore. I am _a bard,_ Geralt. Sometimes it's the same thing."

He looked straight at him. 

"But sleeping with people I love and them _paying me_ , that's what I can't stomach."

Geralt's heart squeezed in his chest. Jaskier was looking at him with those big honest although angry eyes and for a moment Geralt thought his heart won't beat again. It was the last throb, last attempt to push blood through his veins, last effort to force life into his mutated body. 

It was time to be honest.

"Jaskier, look. This thing you think you want now? You don't want it. Not really."

_"No,"_ Jaskier bit out, "Don't you _dare_ ," he walked towards him, putting his hand firmly on his chest. He curled his fingers, _painfully,_ in the thin fabric, scratching him clearly on purpose. 

Geralt hissed.

"My heart," he said, his whisper menacing, threatening, "ain't made out of stone like yours. You.. _you called me Julian."_

He did.

_He did._

Geralt took shaky breath.

"Jaskier, I can't do this. I just _can't…_ " He couldn't afford to have whatever was still left of his heart broken. Not… not by him of all the people. He wouldn't, couldn't survive it.

He wasn't strong enough.

"You're better off without me."

__

Jaskier curled his fingers impossibly tighter. "That's for _me_ to decide. _Not you_." 

He heaved out a breath. 

Jaskier was close, too close, his gaze sharp, absolutely scrutinizing, and Geralt felt like he couldn't _hide_ anymore. His touch was a fire and poison at the same time, scary and exposing and he couldn't _think_ , not with those eyes focused on him. Shudder threatened to run through him and something in his expression must have shifted. 

_"Unless…"_ Jaskier whispered and his eyes widened at sudden realization. He let go of him at once. 

"All right," he said, still struck, taking his hand from Geralt's chest, careful not to touch him more. His movements were pained and the same pain echoed through Geralt's bones.

Jaskier lowered his head, his breath shallow, something in him shattered. 

"I'll get over it because what other choice do I have, right." He tried for light shrugging, but his shoulders trembled despite his efforts. 

"If that's what you want…"

He took uncertain step back. 

"I just…" he looked lost for a moment, "I just, I'll go, I guess."

Geralt watched him take another step back into the darkness, still turned towards him, but getting-

Getting away.

Away from him.

"No," barked Geralt, surprising even himself. There was desperate chuckle in his own voice though he had no idea where that came from.

"It isn't what _I want_. It's what's a right thing to do."

Jaskier laughed. Like full out laughed. 

"Carving out my heart and throwing it to the dirt?" Jaskier raised chin at him, tears swelling in the corners of his eyes. "Does _this_ look right to you? Because if so, be my guest. Be _my fucking guest, Geralt."_

Geralt tensed. Frustration was getting better of him, his own anger rolling off in waves, stinking the air.

"Do you think it's easy for me? _Do you?!"_ Geralt clenched his fists. "I'm saving us a lifetime of disappointment!"

"No, Geralt!" Jaskier mirrored him, though Geralt hasn't noticed how he was up in his face so suddenly, hissing. "You're inducing us with lifetime of misery and regret!"

Geralt bit down, crease on his forehead, lost in the fury of Jaskier's eyes.

Jaskier withdrew again, taking one step back again.

"You were never disappointment to me," said Jaskier, low, shaking his head. _"Pity you can't say the same about me."_

Geralt's stomach just-

Just fucking fell through void and there was aching hole in him, sucking him through and through and-

Jaskier took few breaths.

"I ain't gonna beg you to pull your head out of your arse, Geralt. That's up to you. Just know that if decide to, if you _ever will_ decideto, this is _the_ moment. And it won't repeat."

Jaskier searched his eyes, his stubbornly pursed lips and moment after Jaskier just sighed. Tired.

"Okay. I see."

Somehow he seemed even more defeated, even more _broken._ The never ceasing, never resting energy he saw so many times transformed into rage and many more into joy was gone in that moment. Just a shell of a passionate man he knew. 

And that was Geralt's doing, and Geralt's only. Suddenly the life without the bard stretched before him, long, dull and miserable, the way it was years before. And he found he couldn't, _didn't want_ to ever go back.

"I won't let you walk away again, Jaskier. Not making the same mistake."

"You- you won't let me?" Jaskier perched his eyebrows at him. _"You won't let me?_ Years and years of shooing me away and now _you won't let me?_ What other fucking choice do I have? _"_

"Stay."

"As what?" he spat.

The wind started blowing again, but Geralt didn't hear it. 

"As… _my friend_ ," he said.

"I was your friend for _decades_ ," retorted Jaskier. "And it did me no good. Now? I'm not even sure we're _friends_ anymore."

He cut himself off, hugging himself. The cloud above them moved, half covering the stars and leaving Jaskier in shadows. He took a breath.

"No, I take it back," Jaskier squeezed his eyes. "It did me a plenty of good. But it also led me here. And it _fucking hurts_."

"Stay," breathed Geralt. "As," he took few steps towards him, "as my bestest friend in the whole world?" Geralt tried again, cracking his lips at the corner a bit into a sheepish smile.

And Jaskier, the utter sunshine, involuntary returned his smile. He caught himself quickly though. He opened his eyes.

"Tell me you want me only as a friend. Tell me, Geralt."

His eyes were piercing him, searching.

Burning hole into him, that was bleeding, sucking him dry.

"I…"

He felt the walls he built for years crumbling and still, _still_ he was unwilling to let them fall. Suddenly they crashed. 

All strength left him and his knees with the thud connected with the forest floor. Geralt sunk to his knees in front of him and it was quite a sight, wasn't it? White wolf, witcher feared by monsters and humans equally kneeling in front of a harmless bard. 

But no, Jaskier wasn't harmless. Not when he was holding his heart in his hands.

"I… _can't."_

"You see," said Jaskier softly, looking down at him, "that's where the problem lies. Because if you haven't kissed me like that, if you'd lied now, I _could try_ and shove my emotions under the ashes of my very soul and pretend, _pretend_ it doesn't pain me every time you look at me. But now?" 

He reached his hand, almost touching his face but not quite.

"Knowing the taste of your lips, knowing there's a chance, however small, that you might feel the same and just," he backtracked his hand, "just fucking _decide_ to push away? How am I to cope with that? Who the fuck needs more pain in life?"

He went to step back but Geralt's hands sneaked their way around his legs, circling up his backside, hugging him. Pinning him in place.

"I have no one, Jaskier," whispered Geralt, his cheek rested against Jaskier's abdomen. "No one but you."

Jaskier's hand found its way into Geralt's hair.

"Never needed anyone. Never _wanted_ anyone." Geralt's grip on him tightened.

Jaskier stopped stroking his hair.

"Besides the witch," he said. 

__

Geralt's hands were almost crushing him now.

_"Besides you."_

Jakskier huffed a laugh, looking up into the distance, patting his head slightly.

"Fucking Geralt of fucking Rivia," Jaskier muttered. "Eloquent as always."

"I thought," Geralt looked up at him, "you said something about _liking_ me the way I am."

"I did." Jaskier cradled his hand lightly through his hair, combing it out of his face. "But I'm no warrior, Geralt. I can't take more roughing."

"You're more lethal than any warrior I've met."

And Jaskier smiled though with an edge of sadness.

"I'll remember you said that."

Jaskier wriggled out of his hands, or at least he tried to but Geralt clasped his hands more firmly. 

"I risked more than I was allowed to," Geralt 's voice was muffled against Jaskier's stomach, "just… just by letting you waltz into my life. I went against _everything_ I believed in, breaking my own damn code. _You can't leave now._ " 

Jaskier freed himself out of his grasp. "Always been a rule breaker," he said with an air about him.

He reached down and kissed him sweetly. "Goodbye, Geralt. May the stars always shine in your favor."

Geralt stared at him, starstruck. "They won't," he whispered.

"No, with this attitude, I guess, they won't." Jaskier looked at him for a moment more. "Well… I guess that's it," he said looking around and shrugging a bit. "Take care, Geralt."

Jaskier turned and started walking away, leaving Geralt, on his knees and broken, behind. Geralt didn't know what possessed him. His throat was raw and painful, his heart was beating stronger than it should for a witcher, his knuckles hurt from the sheer force he was clenching them. He blinked away wetness from his eyes and before he knew or could stop them, words, heavy and half-choked, were leaving his mouth.

__

_"Love you, Jaskier."_

__

Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks, his back tense.

__

"You never disappointed me," Geralt said quietly, "Never could."

Jaskier abruptly turned, wilderness in his gaze, dangerous and quite frankly pissed-off. 

"Oh no," he said, his voice low, "no, no. _No. You don't get to do this, Geralt."_

He walked back to him.

As he stopped in front of him, Geralt bated his breath. He raised his chin, meeting his eye.

And Jaskier slapped him.

Hard.

" _You don't fucking get to do_ this. _Do you hear me?"_ he hissed, tears streaming down his face. "Who _the fuck_ do you think you are?"

He clasped his shoulder, nails digging into his skin.

"Answer me, you beast."

He pushed him and Geralt fell back on his ass. He awkwardly adjusted his legs second before Jaskier was at him again and Geralt fell on his back, hitting his head a little. 

Jaskier straddled him.

"You- you _fucking monster! Who gave you the right?!"_ __

__

He hit his chest, anger and desperation taking away from the strength of his blow.

__

"Does it _please_ you to torture me so?"

He hit him again and again, this time stronger; he aimed at his jaw and Geralt's head rolled with the punch. 

Geralt didn't mind pain; in a way he welcomed it. Pain was something he understood. Pain was something he endured often. Something he knew how to deal with, so much unlike a mad bard.

Geralt understood violence. The raw, biting edge, smarting on his skin, he really didn’t mind.

But when Jaskier reached to land another blow, Geralt caught his hand.

_"You did,"_ he hissed. _"You gave me the right."_ __

__

"No," Jaskier spat. "You do not get to say things like this to me, not when you push and push me away like some ragged doll, not when you reject me in hundred new ways every day, not when _I_ finally gather courage to _do_ the fucking inevitable." __

__

He wrestled his hand out of his grip and his other hand sneaked around Geralt's throat. He squeezed lightly and Gerlat buckled underneath him. __

Jaskier leaned over him, sinister and oh so enticing. 

Jaskier hit him.

_"You."_

Another hit. __

__

_"Do"_

Hit.

__

_"Not-"_

Geralt rose and caught his lips in a kiss, more passion than art and when Jaskier kissed back, _because of course he did,_ claiming and biting _,_ something at his core melted.

And it melted deeper and deeper down into his bones, decades of worry, of _wanting_ not exactly soothed but close.

Jaskier kissed with fervor, wilderness in his motions, with the same violence he tumbled him on the ground; not forgiving and certainly not forgetting. And Geralt didn't want him to, doing his best to keep up, to make it count, clawing and gnawing, giving back as good as he got.

After a moment Jaskier drew back, licking his lips. _"Here we are,"_ he murmured before kissing him again, _"here we fucking are."_

And Geralt let himself. He let himself lean into his touch, let himself moan and pant, let his hands roam and claim and _posses_ what never should have been his. Let himself feel things he denied for so long. And Jaskier seemed eager to do the same.

They broke for air and Jaskier somehow got Geralt's hands pinned by either side of his head, hovering over him with dark eyes and swollen lips.

And Geralt really couldn't imagine any other place where he'd rather be. He breathed out, relishing the weight of the bard on him, the firm grasp on his wrist, the feeling of being without reason, lost completely and utterly. 

Jaskier's eyes were searching his and Geralt stuck out his chin at him.

"I said it 'cause it's true." __

__

"No, Geralt," Jaskier said, squeezing his wrists, "You said it because you're terrified. By things out of your control."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Jaskier looked at him, as if to say _Doesn't it?_ but kept his mouth shut for once. His eyes flicked to his lips and he leaned down, but just a breath away from his mouth, he changed direction and took his earlobe between his teeth, tugging lightly. Geralt let out soft _Ah_ at that and Jaskier released him. Jaskier nosed at his cheek, smiling a little. 

Geralt swallowed.

"But _I am_ ," he said finally, "I am fucking scared of-" Geralt bit his lip.

"Of?" Jaskier prompted, pulling away from him, his gaze searching.

_"You leaving me,"_ he admitted softly, squeezing his eyes.

"So don't _make me_ leave, you idiot," Jaskier sat back a little, smacking his chest.

"But you will. No matter what I'll do."

"You trust me so little?" Jaskier asked, his eyes soft, his expression wounded. And Geralt's heart squeezed in his chest, something he no longer thought possible.

"No," he breathed. "But you're leaving nonetheless."

"Does _this_ ," Jaskier leaned down to kiss him, using his tongue, "look like I'm leaving you?"

_"Yes,"_ Geralt said breathless, moving up with him, not willing to let go, not yet.

"This?" Jaskier nipped at his jaw.

"Yes."

Jaskier moved down his neck.

_"And this?"_

__

"Yes."

Jaskier grinned and bit him, honest-to-god _bit him_ in retaliationand when Geralt gasped, he laughed and patted his chest.

"As if I could leave your sorry ass."

Geralt smirked. He lay back, bumping his head on the ground a little. 

Silence stretched between them, comfortable for once.

"Still can't believe you walked _towards_ the vampire," said Geralt after a moment.

When he glimpsed at him, Jaskier was giving him his best affronted face mixed with bit of defiant _so what._

"Well, maybe I want to be immortal and- and pretty like you."

"I am not immortal."

"Yeah?" Jaskier's face appeared in his view and it wasn't something Gerlat would complain about. "But if you won't get eaten by kikimora that can actually fucking stomach you, I'll die years and years before you even start noticing graying of - well, never mind," Jaskier's eyes swayed to his hair and Geralt chuckled.

"You _are_ pretty," he said, reaching for him, "And I don't think you've aged a day in twenty years."

"What?" Jaskier gaped at him, frowning but Geralt was already tangling fingers in his hair.

"Nothing," he murmured as he brought their lips together.

Jaskier let him but after few moments he pushed him away. It surprised Geralt and when he tried to move Jaskier held him at arm's length. Jaskier found his gaze and held it, something harsh around his edges. 

"If you say this is one off thing you won't have to worry about another beast, Geralt. I'll kill you myself."

Geralt smirked. "Ain't it better to have for a moment than never?"

"What? _No!"_ Jaskier smacked him, hard. "I prefer to have forever, thank you very much. Besides," he added, grinning, "I’m still angry, Geralt. You need at least a _lifetime_ to make it up to me."

"Forever," Geralt hummed and nodded. "I like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who went on this journey with me and got all the way to the end. I really hope you enjoyed it at least half as much as I did!  
> Special thanks to all you lovely folks leaving kudos and very special thanks to everyone who commented. You guys kept me going! I see you and appreciate you more than you know!


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